


Ad Infinitum

by adrift_me



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Demon Sex, Demons, Horror, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mirrors, Passion, Sensuality, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Submissive Graves, Supernatural Elements, demon!Credence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10906887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Any person battles their own demons every day, seeking refuge within things they find redeeming and comforting.Dr. Percival Graves, who is invited by Mrs. Barebone to her family estate to cure a patient, has to face the darkest demons of all.There is a catch, however, for this demon has a face, a soul and is Percival Graves' heart's greatest desire.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go!  
> I've been working on this story for quite a while and it had been immense pleasure. It's my first work in such a dark genre and I sincerely hope I managed to created a scary enough atmosphere to keep you all on the edge of your seats. And I truly hope you will enjoy this story!
> 
> This is a mix of regency and victorian era. I couldn't settle down on just one, so I pulled various elements from both periods.
> 
> If you want some visual inspiraton, check out this [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/toffy346/gravebone-demon-au/) I compiled.
> 
> The story is fully and entirely dedicated to wonderful [gravesfrommacusa](http://gravesfrommacusa.tumblr.com) who was at the beginning of it all and gave me so much inspiration.  
> A huge thank you to [angst-wizard](http://angst-wizard.tumblr.com/) and [tssoni](http://tssoni.tumblr.com/) for help and support, I wouldn't have done it without you.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/) if you have questions, prompts or just want to talk!

“Chastity, what are you doing?”

The young lady jumped away from the cold fogged glass as if struck by a thunderbolt. Her little heels made a loud clinking noise as she staggered away, her wrist being caught by her mother with a cruel cold force.

“I am watching, Mother,” Chastity breathed out shakily, her voice diminished to a whisper. Mrs. Barebone’s grip lessened a little but she continued holding her arm still. A thunderbolt struck outside, flashing the room with blinding light for a second. The two women turned their heads to the window, watching the rain, black as soot, stream down the glass.

“You must stay vigilant, my child. Demons seek an opportunity, a breach to penetrate our home.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Go see to Credence. Do not let him out of your sight,” she said in a strained icy whisper, slowly releasing her daughter’s hand. “We are visited by something wicked today and I must spend the night in prayers. For all our sakes.”

She turned on her flat heels and walked away, leaving Chastity alone again. Unwilling to disobey the order, the girl turned to walk up the staircase. And yet she seemed unable to tear her terrified glance away from the storm outside, raging, bewitching, searching.

A tall oak tree in the yard was swinging its massive branches wildly in the wind. As if by some ungodly force it was thrashing about, like a human dying from a terrible fever. There was no obvious wind, however, and yet the tree seemed to be trapped in agony.

A blood chilling scream cut through the air and Chastity whimpered, gripping on the folds of her gown. Neither a wounded animal nor a howl of the wind could be the cause of such a painful cry, but a human being, perhaps possessed by something beyond comprehension of people. It hollered for a good ten minutes before the area drowned in unnatural silence, leaving cold uncomfortable unrest in the hearts of men.

Chastity closed her eyes and let out a shuddering sigh. She felt her hands sweating and rubbed them on the soft fabric of her dress. She glanced at her right hand. Her delicate palm was covered with dull pink scars, but one stood out prominently with its blood red tint and a shape of a blade cut rather than a bruise. The girl clenched her fist and looked up.

The screams she heard were coming from under their roof.

***

An elegant carriage, pulled by a chestnut horse, rushed through the estate gate. Seated inside was a handsome middle aged man by the name of Dr. Percival Graves. He was known to be an educated physician, living nearby in a beautiful mansion, left to him by his father. He had a fashionable haircut and a well made suit, marking him out among other physicians who could not compare neither in expertise nor appearance. However, he held no practice, did not take on patients regularly and was living like any other gentleman of a general profession. Occasionally he agreed to take a look at patients who were deemed incurable. Many had lived to thank Dr. Graves for the help he provided.

The carriage jumped a little over a stone on the road, making the side lanterns swing violently. Graves caught a hold of his hat and leaned back onto the seat, resting his hand on a large rounded leather box that smelled heavily of medicinal herbs.

He turned his gaze at the walking stick in his hand, a tool of taste and fashion with a silvery tip and a simple handle. It wasn’t a common item, brought with him back from the States, but the same could be said about many things Dr. Graves owned. If curious glances could look through walls, they would have seen most peculiar things in the gentleman’s luggage. Books on unspoken of subjects, bellied vials with and without colourful liquids, rolls of parchment and many other items that were not supposed to be in a common person’s ownership. It was a secret kept behind closed doors, one that would most certainly bother the religious folk of the ***shire. All his life in the States Graves had a great interest for all things inexplicable and spent quite a lot of time studying both medicine and the occult. Of course, even in such an open-minded place as the States was, he had to keep it covert to avoid public destruction of his character.

The carriage began slowing down as it was steadily approaching the Barebone Estate. Graves looked out of the window to see the house of two storeys and a set of simple rounded columns, guarding the entrance. The estate was surrounded by a well cared for yard, full of delicate blossoming flowers and dark green trees. A fenced grove could be seen behind the house, its tree peaks towering solemnly over the roof. There was something eerie about the way those magnificent oaks and maples crowded, creating dense shadows and allowing for hiding secrets.

Dr. Graves was not entirely fond of the Barebone family, but he did not know them closely enough to give proper judgement. The family itself was painted in the darkest of colours by the neighbourhood. Local gossip had it that the widow, Mrs. Barebone, was a woman of a dry and cruel character. Some supposed she did not shy away from using violence on her children, but no evidence or proof had ever been suggested. Nevertheless, the locals swallowed that unsettling opinion easily and eagerly.

There was, however, one remarkable thing about the Barebones - the eldest son. Though he had the worst of the local disapproval, Graves found him the most sincere and interesting among the family members. He had a pleasure to make an acquaintance with him a year ago during a pleasant horse ride. Graves reminisced on how magical and alluring young Barebone’s figure seemed in the dark greenery of the forest path. He was almost a creature from the beyond, and Graves would have accepted the idea without hesitation but for the rueful reality of the position the young man was in.

No Barebone escaped a wag of a finger or a tongue, and Credence Barebone was no exception. In fact, he had the worst of it, for his appearance was considered queer and unnatural, his air - too shy and uncivil. Graves knew enough not to follow this particular gossip as his multiple conversations with the young man proved him to be simply different from others and beaten up by circumstances of an unfortunate family placement.

The horses finally stopped, allowing the driver to open the carriage door and invite Dr. Graves out. He stepped on the sandy gravel road, hit it with the tip of his walking stick and fixed his hat. The day was coming to its end and dull sunset drew a peculiar burning line along the horizon.

The mistress of the house, Mrs. Barebone, to whose rather urgent letter Graves responded with a visit, was standing by the columned entrance. Graves took in the proud figure of the woman. She had a straight posture of overconfidence and a stern face of a school governess. There was no true kindness in those plain features and her eyes emitted cold that Graves could almost feel with his skin.

“Doctor Graves, I am most grateful for your arrival,” she said, approaching the man with an air of good will that Graves found hard to trust. He bowed at her, smiling cooly.

“Mrs. Barebone. I am not used to paying medical visits at such an hour, especially without details of the patient’s state. However--”

“I understand, sir. I genuinely apologize for calling for you at this hour, but I’m afraid there can be no delay. Please, if you would,” she said vaguely and gestured for him to come inside.

“Mrs Barebone, your letter spoke of life-depending urgency but relayed no details. Who is my patient? What is their condition?” he inquired as the lady led him up the stairs and into a narrow hall with several doors, dimly lit with a couple of rusty sconces. He had been rather hopeful to meet young Credence and question him about the situation, but no other members of the family were anywhere in the vicinity. Mrs. Barebone paused at the top of the stair flight.

“I didn’t dare describe the matter on paper, sir. You will see for yourself. I must ask for your discretion in the matter, but I know you to be a man of little words and gossip. Here, sir,” she showed him to the furthest door, opening it and allowing the man in.

The room he found himself in was a particular display of despair. Heavy long curtains were drawn, candles burnt a cloud of unbreathable smoke. Two girls were sitting beside a bed, the older one leaning over it with a mop and reaching out in a bundle of a blanket. As soon as both of them noticed the physician, they exchanged looks and sprang from their seats. Graves considered them for a mere second, with his eyebrows raised.

“Good evening,” he finally bowed at them both before proceeding to the bed. The younger girl moved away, her eyes glued to the mess of sheets.

Much to Graves’ surprise, it was Mr. Barebone himself taken ill. Hidden within a thick fluffy blanket was his sickly pale figure. Almost motionless, entirely soundless, it was an exhibit of a feverish cold, an illness Graves had seen many times before. The young man’s cheeks were burning red and his forehead was hot and sweaty. Black hair was wet and sticking to the face in curls.

Graves pursed his lips, avoiding to show any sign of gentle recognition or care above professional.

“His temperature won’t go down, sir,” said Miss Barebone, stepping aside and letting Graves take her seat on the pouf. He steadied his walking stick by the vanity and settled his valise on the bedside table.

“I will take care of this. Do not worry yourself, miss Barebone,” said Graves softly, looking at the woman reassuringly. She returned a small hopeful smile but her eyes were far from relieved. Puffy and red, they betrayed her crying earlier. And if his quick observation was right, there was a subtlety of fear in her expression.

Graves looked up at the whole of the family. “Ladies, I will need some room to examine the young man.”

Mrs Barebone measured him with a cold glance before turning around and ushering her daughters outside. They didn’t need urging and with a rustle of long heavy gowns the girls disappeared in the hall. Mrs. Barebone pierced the physician with a glance, barely paying attention to her sick son. She seemed to have considered something for a moment, considered _him_ , but said nothing of importance.

“I’ll be downstairs when you are done, Dr Graves,” she said, and the door closed behind her.

Graves let out another deep sigh. His eyes wandered back to the boy. His body was trembling slightly now and his skin seemed ghostly pale in comparison to the white sheets he was lying in. Graves leaned to touch his forehead - wet and hot under his rough fingers.

He hummed and turned around to open the window. A gust of fresh air cleared the room a little, and Graves felt the heat pulling away from his cheeks. With hands on his hips, Graves stood by the window, studying the room. It was a rather cramped bedroom, but decorated with a distinctive taste of expense and elegance. The side table held a stack of prayer books as well as some history works. A small vanity held a washing bowl and was clattered with candles, perfume bottles and crowned with a medium sized mirror.

“Well, let’s see, shall we,” muttered Graves, slipping out of his coat and folding it over the armchair’s back. As he moved to tug at his collar to fix it, he observed the young man. There was nothing particularly unusual about his state and, although Graves was quite concerned about him, he came to wonder on why Mrs. Barebone was so urgent, insistent and even secretive. Perhaps, it was a superstitious inclination, although unclear of circumstances. The woman was known in the neighbourhood as a faith fanatic, imposing her beliefs on any unfortunate enough to stand near her side. She seemed to have always rubbed people up the wrong way, which brought no popularity to her or her children.

Graves thought of miss Barebone, who was grown up and smart enough (and pretty, he admitted) to be surrounded by a flock of suitors, and yet he heard of none. miss Modesty had to face the same predicament in due time, and as for mister Credence Barebone…

Graves glanced at the young man and sprang away from the armchair, clutching at his heart.

Credence’s eyes were open and his eyelids trembling in the most unnatural fashion. Those eyes were of dull brown colour, veiled with a strange fog of unknowing and ill. They wandered rapidly about as if seeing something no one else could. Graves watched their hectic movement from afar and slowly began approaching the bed.

“Mister Barebone?” he called in a hoarse voice. “Can you hear me?”

The young man gave no reply, his eyes still following the unknown. Seconds later his eyes closed and he returned to feverish slumber, looking as normal as any other sick person would.

Graves exhaled. This was a most unusual symptom, most unnatural and frightening. He turned his head, catching his frightened reflection in the vanity mirror. He ran his hand through brushed back hair, grayed out on the roots a little, and pulled at it lightly.

Rapid knocking on the door made Graves turn around swiftly, hand sliding to hold the nape of his neck. The voice outside was of a little girl, quiet and inquiring.

“Dr. Graves!”

“Please, come in,” he rubbed his hands and began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, standing in front of Credence and closing the view of him completely.

Little miss Modesty entered the room, her big eyes filled with something akin to terror as she tried to glance at the bed where her brother was. As a physician, Graves could see her as a delicate child who was likely exposed to activities a child should not be involved in. She must have been doing a lot of house work as the family held few servants. Lack of motherly love, which was no secret, left its mark as well. Graves watched the girl turn around before closing the doors and approaching him with an air of secretive intention. She reached out to hold his rough large hands and looked keenly in his eyes.

“Dr. Graves, you must not stay when Mother asks you,” she whispered. Graves smiled in confusion.

“Is she intending to ask?”

“Yes, sir. She wishes you cured Credence as soon as possible, but it might take longer than you imagine.”

“Why is it, miss Modesty?”

She looked around yet again. Graves reached out for her shoulder to offer comfort for the distressed girl, who must have been severely worried for her elder brother. But as soon as his fingers touched her, the girl clutched at his hand with painful intensity.

“Do not cure him, Dr. Graves. Let it be. It’s for the best.”

She threw his hand off her shoulder and ran out of the room, leaving the man in complete confusion.

***

His initial examination of the boy showed no promising signs nor did it give any detail on the nature of his sickness. Fever was running hot through his body, but it was unlike the fever caused by a cold. A few more times his eyes stayed open and not blinking, moving around and watching. There was no sign of awareness and it chilled the blood in Graves’ veins. Frightened but intrigued, he was eager to help young Mr. Barebone.

Keeping Mrs. Barebone and her daughters out of Credence’s room was an easy task. It was the explaining of the situation to the lady that Graves feared. Something, perhaps a whim of intuition, told him to withhold certain details from the woman.

“I suspect it to be a cold, ma’am, but I need to observe the boy’s symptoms for a while. I’d hate to let the illness run out of our control.”

She nodded at him.

“And I request that no one enters his room without my approval.”

“It shall be arranged, sir. I am glad you take my son’s life in your hands, Dr. Graves. I have my faith in you and the Lord’s will.”

He smiled back at her weakly. The woman was holding eye contact, turning her head a little. Graves felt uneasy under her scrutiny, reinforced with the mysterious behaviour of his patient and his sisters.

“Dr. Graves. I have a proposition to you,” Mrs. Barebone led Graves away from the living room where they spoke and into the blossoming yard. Lavender scent seemed stronger at this late hour and he inhaled its sharp fresh fragrance to scare away his own fears.

“A proposition of what nature, Mrs. Barebone?”

“You live quite far from our estate. Perhaps, if you do not find it inconvenient, you could stay here for the period of tending to Credence.”

Graves considered it for a moment, turning his head to see if Modesty was nearby. Her warning was of most peculiar nature, but it wasn’t an obstacle. If anything, it added coal to his ignited curiosity. A combination of a compassionate soul and dangerous attraction to mysteries made Dr. Graves decide long ago, perhaps the moment Credence’s eyes were opened in their eerie way. The physician stopped and gave Mrs. Barebone a bow.

“I accept your kind invitation, ma’am, if it’s not an inconvenience to you and your family.”

“Delightful. It would be wise if you sent for a change of clothes and any medical equipment you need, Dr. Graves. I will go see that your room is ready,” said the woman with a pleased smile. Graves was about to walk on when a strong grip on his arm stopped him. Mrs. Barebone drew nearer with an air of danger.

“Dr. Graves. I find it necessary to repeat how confidential the matter is. Under no circumstances must you tell anyone about my son’s condition. As far as people are concerned, you are but a visiting guest. I trust your judgement to keep everything that happens in my home to yourself.”

She let go of his arm and hurried inside, leaving Graves standing perplexed in the yard.

***

The night was thick and fresh with its light breeze and clear dark sky. A glowing crescent hung high up, lighting the way for whatever lurked in the Barebones’ estate grove. There were dim soft lights, warming up the windows of the estate, enveloping the house in a cozy atmosphere. The family and their guest were seated in a dining room. Barely any talk transpired, each and everyone was consumed by thoughts of personal nature.

As Dr. Graves sat at the dining table, his mind kept wandering back to the boy upstairs. There was no unusual development, no bizarre behaviour, no hints at the events of the past late afternoon. Graves began to wonder if he might have dozed off in the armchair, allowing his mind to conceive ridiculous fantasies.

He spent time with Credence before the dinner, made a blood test and looked through his old notes to see if something might be of use. By the time the sun hid behind the horizon, Graves reassured himself that he was dealing with nothing but a severe cold. Strange blinking? A fantasy of a tired brain. And miss Modesty? Well, a worried child may express their concern in most peculiar ways.

“I am delighted you agreed to stay, Dr. Graves. I would hate for Credence to be left without an observing eye and skillful attention,” Mrs Barebone looked up at her guest. Graves swallowed and hovered the silverware over a slice of meat.

“Ma’am, I will do all in my power to help Mr. Credence recover as soon as possible. You and your daughters need not worry.”

Graves’ eyes slowly moved to look at Modesty, but the girl gave no sign of recognition of their earlier conversation, her face set in solemn sadness.

Miss Barebone, on the other hand, seemed inclined to pursue the subject. Her voice trembled.

“Do you think you know what happened to my brother?”

“It appears he has a cold. His temperature is high and this is why I prefer to stay and watch over his well being. I am sure within a few days his state will return to normal and your brother will be up and about in no time.”

“It’s good to hear,” said Miss Barebone with a sense of content finality and until the end of the dinner spoke no more.

***

As night crawled upon the Heartstone estate, putting to sleep its inhabitants and sending heavy drowsiness on anyone resisting, Graves finished a blood test of the still unconscious boy. The room smelled intensely of medicines and Graves felt a little dizzy from their herbal sweetness. He rose from the uncomfortable chair and shook his feet a little, stretching the muscles.

It was well past midnight, and he felt he could fight sleepiness no longer. The man approached the vanity table, its trinkets cleared away to make way for medicinal tools. He lowered his hands into the washing bowl, moved his fingers in it and brought wet palms to his face.

His mirror reflection looked back with water droplets sliding down his face. Graves stared into his own eyes when _it_ appeared.

A barely visible touch of fog on the mirror surface, as if someone breathed on it and placed fingertips from the other side. One by one they blurred the reflecting surface, fingertips appearing in an arch, then a shadow of a palm.

Graves breathed out shakily. He ran his hand over the neck, leaving a cold trail of water on his skin. His gaze was glued to the mirror where a foggy handprint closed his reflection. The man carefully took a candleholder and brought it closer to the mirror, inspecting the abnormal occurrence. The mirror matched the tiny flame’s dance as Graves moved the candle, and the shadow of a foggy palm was illuminated with warmth. Without realising the man brought his own palm close to the surface, inches, an inch away, almost feeling the mirror on his hand.

_Swish._

Invisible fingers on the other side crossed the fog, leaving smooth traces of three fingers. Graves gasped and swung back in a startled manner. He quickly replaced the candleholder and grabbed a nearby towel, throwing it over the mirror.

Something mumbled and stirred and his attention was caught by Credence. The young man moved his head to where Graves was standing and looked at him in confusion.

“Mr. Barebone, how are you feeling?” Startled even more so, Graves approached the boy and drew a chair nearer to inspect his patient’s state. Credence blinked and winced when the physician touched and turned his face. The temperature was miraculously gone, so was the fever. Graves brought a piece of fabric to the man’s face and mopped at the sweat on his forehead.

“What is happening?” croaked Credence.

“You were unconscious for a day, Mr. Barebone. I suspect it was nothing but a cold that you reacted to intensely. Nothing to worry about now.”

Graves rose and turned around to wash his hands in the basin on the vanity. His attention immediately returned to the towel on the mirror and fear occupied his thoughts, trembling subtle fear that makes you conscious of your surroundings twofold.

“Where are my sisters?”

A loud panicked voice startled Graves into flinching. Taking a breath, the man turned to look at Credence who was sitting up in his sheets and grasping at them with force. His knuckles went white and pointy and much to Graves’ surprise, he noticed that the top of the boy’s hands was scarred and bruised.

“They are well, sir. Your illness is not contagious, at least not for the moment.”

Credence closed his eyes and turned his head, as if annoyed by what Graves was saying.

“I want to see them.”

“Mr. Barebone, it’s late night and no doubt your sisters and your mother are--”

There was a soft tinkling, a crack coming from under the towel. Graves slowly moved his gaze from Credence to the mirror and the two men looked at it, one with anticipating unease and another with disturbing hunger.

Graves approached the mirror like it was a beast fast asleep and with immense care he pulled off the towel to reveal his reflection under a line of barely noticeable cracks. He stared at himself with his hand frozen in the air with the towel.

His reflection smiled. He didn’t.

It leaned in, as if the mirror was nothing but a window, and it looked earnestly inside. Graves felt his breath stolen away by consuming terror, he couldn’t move his glance away from his face across. It was smiling still, oddly and eerily cheerful. It brought a hand to the mirror and nodded at Graves, inviting him to place his own hand there.

But the physician didn’t move. He felt every muscle in his body going stiff. He did not dare look at Credence who was as silent and still.

The reflection’s smile faded away and in a matter of seconds it smashed its hand into the mirror, shattering it into tiny shards.

Graves gasped as his own hand splattered with blood and he gripped his shaking wrist, staring at it. Credence, who gave no signs of presence until now, climbed out of bed and rushed towards Graves. He picked the towel from the floor and forced it onto Graves’ hand. Graves stared at Credence and clenched his teeth not to shout, for Credence’s eyes were rolled up and partly closed, and he seemed to be inhaling the metallic scent of blood with immense animal pleasure.

“What is this ungodly thing,” Graves whimpered, taking hold of the towel and pressing it to the cuts. Credence said nothing. He breathed out, still holding Graves’ arm and hovering his face a little over the man’s bruised hand. After a pause that lasted what felt like eternity he spoke in a balmy voice.

“You must go to sleep, sir. It is nothing more than a nightmare.”

This voice was nothing like it used to be. It wasn’t shy and careful, it was gliding up and down eerie voice levels and yet felt monotonous in its expression. Graves found himself staring in the young man’s eyes and to his horror they were blank and distorted. Irises were either hidden beneath a white devilish veil or rolled up to a terrible height. Credence’s hand snaked around his neck and it was searing hot, he could feel the touch with almost unbearable pain. His mind was slipping away. His view was drowned in darkness of fainting, and all he could see were two white spots that should have been eyes. At last, he succumbed to pain and darkness and was awake no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A dark reflection of yours is a reflection still._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/) :)

Graves woke up with a nagging pain in his neck. He stretched and turned, massaging his aching muscles. He felt dizzy, breathing in stifling air that had a repulsive smell of burnt candles, spicy medicines and blood.

Credence was sitting upon a messy bed, dressed in his crumpled nightgown and watching Graves with surprising absorption. Graves had never been  _ studied _ in such a way that made his skin tingle unpleasantly.

With a striking abruptness Graves’ memory poured recollections of last night on him. He touched the back of his neck, but there was nothing. No burns, no bruises, nothing that would have vouched for the pain Graves fainted with. His hands gripped on the armrests and he stared at the boy sitting opposite him. Credence looked away in confusion, tearing his gaze away from Graves’ chest.

“Good morning, sir,” he said in a tone of surprise, staring at the floor and holding onto the edge of the bed. “Why are you here, Dr. Graves?”

His voice sounded unsure, trying the waters. His whole posture was different, the way he averted his eyes and seemed eager to try and disappear into thin air. There was nothing left of the wicked creature that, for the lack of a better word, attacked Graves last night. Instead, there was a being of purity and innocence that made Graves feel too dirty to be allowed to talk to.

“You were taken down ill, Credence. Your mother called for my aid. How are you feeling now?”

“I feel well.”

The striking contrast of Credence’s personality amused Graves. Clutched by tangles of fear he plunged himself into fake confidence, leaving his troublesome thoughts for later contemplation. Playing with the Devil was a dangerous matter, after all.

“I’m most glad to hear it. I would like to examine you once again, to see if this is true improvement or a pause.”

“Sir, you…” Credence raised his hand an inch over the bed but returned it to where it was. Instead, he swallowed and nodded at Graves himself.

Graves rose from the armchair and immediately noticed why the boy must have stared at him. His white shirt was painted with dry blood and his hands were streaked with red stains and cuts.

“Quite an exhibit, I see.”

He swallowed. His fingers tugged at the folds of his ruined shirt. He looked at the scarred surface of his hands, all dark and dry but no longer bleeding.

“What happened? Have you been in a fight with someone, sir?” whispered Credence.

“In a matter of speaking,” Graves’ mouth curved in an involuntary smile. “I’m afraid it was a fight I lost.”

His gaze moved to the vanity table where a mirror frame was gaping at him with sharp ragged edges of mirror remains. The table itself was covered with a pile of glittering shards. The surface of many was marred by small and large droplets of dark red. Blood.

Graves slowly looked at Credence. He came up close to him and squatted in front of him, gently taking his sickly pale hands in his own. The young man did not shy away from the terrifying look and touch of Graves’ hands. The man admired the trust he was granted by someone who was a victim of something far worse than bloody abuse. By someone for whom the sight of blood was the aftermath and not a reason to be scared.

“Mr. Barebone,” he said softly, “Credence. Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Has something happened since our last meeting?”

“Nothing truly worthy of your attention.”

Graves’ voice fell to whisper as he looked eagerly into Credence’s eyes. 

“Could you promise me that you shall tell me everything if you change your mind? If your life is in danger, yours or anyone in your family?”

The young man swallowed and nodded.

“Very well,” Graves smiled a little, gently withdrawing his hands from Credence’s and rising. He gestured at the vanity, one strange evidence remaining yet, glistening with shattered mirror pieces. “I shall remove this. My apologies. If you are feeling well, Mr. Barebone, I will retire to my room to change.”

With nothing further ado, Graves hurriedly swished mirror pieces using a cloth into a bloodied towel bundle and hurried out of the room. Grateful for early hours and for the house inhabitants still asleep, the physician entered his room without meeting terrified servants and other obstacles. As soon as the door closed behind him, he slipped out of the blood-stained shirt and tucked it deep into the wardrobe where no servant would look. Having quickly changed into fresh clothing, Graves felt the shadows of the night step away slowly. They let go of his mind and unclenched his terrified heart, much like one feels when ties of their clothing are loosened.

The man took a breath of fresh air, standing by the window and looking out onto the blossoming yard. Flowers bloomed in many colours and fragrances, making this house purer than it seemed.

Had Graves been an ardent reader of romantic novels, he would have said that the house was haunted.

An unhealthy mix of curiosity and fear drove Graves mad with decisions. His heart was ignited to stay and see what happens next. His mind begged him to get out of the Barebones’ estate as soon as possible and never look back. What took place in the last hours was an opportunity he sought for years as a passionate occult researcher, but never had he imagined it would pose a danger to his well-being and life. The man contemplated his choices while standing by the window and mindlessly brushing back his hair.

Unpleasant prickling in his hand reminded him of the bruises which he intended to hide. Graves thoroughly washed his hands in water, scrubbed off dark dry blood and finally revealed the many bruises on top and under his hand. There could be no mistake - it looked as if his hand had struck the mirror surface and yet he knew he’d never done it. He could remember his reflection so vividly and a thought so unsettling ate its way in his brain: what if he  _ had _ done.

Graves shook his head and returned his attention to the valise, searching for the medicine. Careful application of a salve helped reduce painful tingling, a set of soft cotton bandages over his hand ensured quick regeneration for the skin.

Fixing the bandage on his hand, Graves looked out of the window once more. He enjoyed the view of the morning nature when the quiet unmoving peace of the garden was disturbed.

A figure appeared in the yard. Chastity Barebone walked towards the grove entrance, holding what looked like a dark fabric bundle in her hands. She seemed cautious, turning around every now and then, watching her step. At last, her figure disappeared behind the grove gates.

She returned but a few minutes later, her walk swift and light, her hands free from the bundle she was carrying, and entered the house. Graves tapped thoughtfully on the window frame, staring into the thick darkness of the grove. So far in his self-proclaimed investigation there had been quite a number of suspicious figures. The Barebones had a secret, and what was most intriguing was that none knew how much they shared it. Each kept to himself, hiding one piece of a big truth that scraped at Graves’ skull and made him wonder.

What was his role in this conundrum? Was he a mere victim of being in a wrong place in a wrong time or a deliberately lured in prey for whatever haunted the estate if indeed it did?

***

For the next few days nothing particular happened. Graves chose not to bring up Chastity’s strange behavior just yet, allowing the events to unfold as they were. The Barebones behaved strangely in their own way, but it was not something to be surprised about. Young Mr. Barebone seemed to remember nothing of the strange night occurrence. Graves inquired him carefully but it led only to confused looks.

Credence seemed much happier than usual with Dr. Graves around, and the man had a suspicion it was because Mrs. Barebone had less chances to pick on him. It could not be the one and only reason, however. Their tender friendship, formed but a year ago, was the most comforting factor to Mr. Barebone’s recovery. His fever went away, his temperature was steadily going down and on a certain morning Graves encouraged him to take a short morning walk around the house.

Holding the boy’s arm and adjusting his walking pace to match his, Graves led Credence along the paved path of the small yard. His free hand was using a walking stick which made steady rhythmic noises on the garden pathway. The morning was beautiful indeed with a bright sun, dimmed by the shadows of the grove and a sky so blue and clear that it felt quite surreal. Graves found little interest in what nature had to offer him that particular day as he paid all his attention to the boy, watching his condition. Credence’s face was marble white against the dark greenery, but his eyes had a healthy sparkle Graves was pleased to see.

“Are you enjoying the walk, Mr. Barebone?” Graves patted his shoulder, drawing the young man’s attention. Credence didn’t look up but gave him a small smile.

“The morning is quite agreeable, sir.”

“If you take such a walk every day, your health shall improve quickly. I hope you will not need my services any longer as I already feel I am overstaying my welcome.”

“Mother says your presence is what makes me feel better. I hear it was her idea to invite you to stay.”

“Indeed, a most kind offer. I am but a stranger, after all.”

“We have all come to enjoy your company,” Credence’s voice fell more silent. Graves looked at him with a surprised smile. Credence looked away. “And you are hardly a stranger, Dr. Graves. We’ve known each other for some time and you have been kind to my sisters on occasions we had a pleasure to meet.”

They turned around the hedge which revealed a gate into the grove and a circular fountain seating. The physician gestured for them both to sit down. Awkward silence fell between them but for different reasons. Graves was contemplating an uncomfortable truth that there had to be more to young Barebone’s sickness than he let on. He hated to ask again and again, but it was only through truth that illness could be healed. 

“Credence, I do understand this question must be an annoyance, but I must ask again if you remember what was happening before you fell ill or if you are willing to tell me.”

“Please, Dr. Graves, do not ask me.”

Credence’s voice was quiet and breaking as he spoke. Graves was ready for that disappointing answer, but his hope burnt as strong. He wondered if his questioning would trigger whatever happened to reside in Credence. He knew he played with fire but it had a certain delight of danger about it. 

It had to be special. Credence had always confided in him with almost blind trust. He delivered his fears to the only soul that was ready to listen and wouldn’t judge. To hear the boy refusing to confide in him for so long was disturbing, considering recent events.

“I… can’t.”

Credence raised his scared eyes at Graves who smiled at him softly. He took the young man’s hand in his own and warmed it.

“I won’t push on anymore, Credence. But if you feel like talking to me, please do. I hold your best interests at heart and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Sir…”

“Now, why don’t we continue walking? Breakfast is quite soon and you, as my patient, must not miss it.”

“Sir, I have a question of my own.”

Graves nodded. Credence held the question at the tip of his tongue, picking at Graves’ strained nerves of curiosity.

“Why do you trust me?”

“Because…” Graves rubbed the young man’s hand in gentle circular motions almost absentmindedly. “Because you have given me enough reasons to put my faith in you, no matter the consequences. Because you are the only man in this place who I know for certain has a soul as pure as first snow. I respect you.”

“Is that it?”

Graves brought Credence’s hand to his lips and left a long warm kiss on it. 

“No. Not just that.”

Young Barebone’s fingers slipped out of his hold and gently touched Graves’ cheek. His hand was oddly warm but pleasantly so against the stubble on the physician’s face.

A noise of a window being opened with creaking broke their gentle moment. Graves helped Credence rise from the seat and they continued their stroll down the gravel path, their cheeks warmer and smiles softer. The grove looked as menacing as at night, covering the yard with a threatening shadow. Such a quiet morning only contributed to Graves’ intense thinking.

The deeper he poked his nose in the mystery of the Barebone estate, the less he seemed to understand it. An unsettling feeling kept spreading in his chest as he stole glances at young Barebone. He had almost forgotten about… 

“What is this?”

Credence pointed at a blue piece of fabric, hanging off the grove fence and wavering on the wind. Graves made sure Credence could stand steadily before releasing his arm and approaching the fabric. It looked rather expensive albeit dirty. And easily recognizable as the very fabric of a bundle Miss Chastity was carrying that morning. Upon closer investigation Graves realised that the dark brown stains he took for dirt were in fact blood. In ripped holes Graves could see something glistening and reflecting. His hand shook betrayingly as he reached out to grab the rag off the pointy fence.

Graves turned to show it to Credence when searing pain cut through his finger.

“Damn it,” he hissed, watching blood trickle down his cut finger. He wiped it off on the rag which now revealed a hidden mirror shard, caught on a loose thread.

“Let me help you, sir,” said Credence in a voice which had unexpected velvet to it. Graves looked up. The boy was approaching him and before Graves could object, he took his hand and looked at it with strange fondness, almost animal hunger. His eyes were set in a loving expression, his own fingers caressed his skin with such masterful movements that Graves lost his breath. “I’m so sorry that you have injured yourself. Let us go back to the house and make sure the bleeding stops.”

And staring directly at Graves, young Barebone licked blood off his finger.

***

Graves felt the warmth of Credence’s mouth on his skin. His insides burned the second his tongue flicked over the tip of his finger. He felt his own mouth open slightly and leaned closer to the boy. He swallowed.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Graves realised his voice sounded husky, uncontrolled, and he blushed from the mere idea of how much this small interaction managed to overwhelm him. A thought so exciting visited his mind - he liked it.

“Not for long,” Credence whispered. “I wanted to do this before. So many times and that morning before, when you sat in the armchair, bloodied. You looked beautiful. And you didn’t seem scared of it. Of me.”

“Credence…” Graves prayed his voice to return and his heart to slow down. But his body listened no more. He looked at the young man before him and watched his eyes turn partly white, swimming in strange demonic fog. Milky white, they were brighter than his skin, framed with black long eyelashes. He didn’t quite notice how his hand appeared on Credence’s cheek and how his thumb pressed at the corner of his mouth.

“Dr. Graves?”

Graves’ hand fell as he turned around. Loud quick steps were heard and soon after Modesty emerged from around the corner. Her small eerie eyes instantly pierced Credence and Graves, and he felt studied and exposed again. But whereas Credence displayed curiosity, Modesty seemed to express distrust and caution. Graves leaned on his walking stick and tipped at the edge of his hat. His injured finger was conveniently hidden in the crook of his arm as he held onto it. The blue fabric was tucked there as well.

“Yes, Miss Modesty?”

“Breakfast is ready. Mother is waiting for you and my brother in the breakfast room.”

“We won’t keep Mrs. Barebone waiting then,” Graves turned on his heels to Credence, expressing the end of the conversation, and waited for the sound of regressing steps. 

Credence stood with his eyes returned to normal, a most ashamed look on his face. He looked up at Graves who moved to touch his cheek once more. Credence’s eyes darted towards his injured finger and he recoiled from the touch. 

“Do you remember what happened just now, Credence?” Graves asked quietly, strength back in his voice.

“I do.”

“Did you like it?”

Credence paused and breathed out a “ _ yes _ ”. Graves made a step closer to the boy. He found he was quite enjoying this enticing game. One moment he had all the control over this pure creature, but as soon as it spread its dark demonic wings, he was ready to submit. He would have been a fool to deny just how much attraction such a relationship beheld.

“Credence…”

Once more Graves placed a thumb on the boy’s lips, making them part a little.

“Would you want to repeat what you did but a minute ago?”

He closed his eyes and exhaled a longing “yes”.

***

Graves wondered if he oughtn’t have buried the fabric within the wild strands of a bush in the garden. Should he later return to the grove gate to pick up the peculiar evidence? Was it safer hidden away where Chastity put it or in his hands? Graves knew the shards held the key to this house’s mystery. To Credence’s mystery. His mind raced in attempts to put together the clues he had. But it was not easy to keep a cold heart.

He liked what was happening to Credence. It was a gruesome thing to admit, but Graves had to. The way the boy’s personality flowed and shifted, balancing on the thin thread of dark and good.

But it was new. Those numerous times they’ve met, Credence had always exhibited nothing else but the quiet obedience of a servant. How many times had Graves wished he could help him spread his shoulders, teach him to look people in the eye and make people talk to him respectfully! All hope of this was erased by Mrs. Barebone’s cruel upbringing.

But now, with something delightfully dark residing in the boy’s soul, new horizons opened. Or rather, new depths were revealed.

***

Afternoons always seemed slow and lazy at the Barebones. The lady herself retired to her room for an afternoon sleep, while her daughters saw to their hobbies such as gardening, walking or cross stitching. Graves saw it as an opportunity and after insisting on and convincing Credence to lie down to rest, he retired to the library. 

This visit to the Barebones was everything Graves had hoped but didn’t expect to encounter during his studies in the States. He’d read many books, he’d spoken to many people who insisted on seeing the supernatural. It all seemed so close, and yet he never managed to grab that bird by the tail. And now one such bird was in his arms and with each moment he felt himself drawn to it. What was it like, embracing a snake which was deemed safe to then have it bite him with deadly poison? He was playing with fire and it was spine-tingling. Graves had no more doubts that something demonic indeed took its place in Credence’s soul, but what was its source? What were its motivations? One thing Graves couldn’t believe was that such a creature felt mere hunger towards anything in the vicinity. It was too smart, it was a predator. And it hunted Graves as much as he hunted it.

The door creaked and to Graves’ surprise, Miss Barebone entered the room.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said hurriedly, as if she were not the mistress and were intruding on him at his own place. Graves rose from his seat.

“Please, do not apologize. If you need space, I shall relocate.”

“No, it is fine. In fact, I am glad for a chance of a private conversation with you.”

Graves gestured for her to sit down, feeling slightly embarrassed over such dominance. The young woman shyly proceeded towards the sofa and settled there in a humble posture.

“I wanted to inquire about my brother.”

“He is getting well, I am sure you saw this at breakfast.”

“Dr. Graves, let us not play coy.”

Graves looked down at the woman and then sat opposite her on another sofa.

“Then if you will excuse my tone, I must insist on your not playing coy either. I saw you from the window, hiding something in the woods. If I were to guess, it’s directly connected to your brother’s… peculiarities. And if you wish me to be honest, I must ask for your honesty in return.”

Chastity stared down at her hands in her lap. Her eyes welled with tears as she spoke in her quiet voice.

“It was nothing. I broke something and I didn’t want anyone to know. The item is precious and Mother would have been quite upset.”

Graves closed his eyes and moved his index finger over his lips, expressing utmost disbelief of the woman’s words. She gave him a quick glance.

“Miss Barebone, must you complicate things?”

“Dr. Graves, you don’t know what you are asking for.”

Graves leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“In fact, I do. I want to know what happened to Credence and I’m certain you are well aware of those events. Miss Barebone, I am hardly a priest. I won’t judge, it’s not what I do. I heal people. I can help you and I can help your brother. But in order to do it, you must confess.”

Chastity Barebone looked up at him with a slightly disgusted expression.

“You say you are not a priest, and yet you expect my confession. Am I a sinner, sir?”

“I don’t judge.”

“And you have no right to.”

The woman rose from her seat, her cheeks burning and her hands shaking as she nervously played with the folds of her gown.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you. I will retire to my room.”

“Miss Chastity,” Graves said quietly, changing the gentlemanly tone of respect to a trustful and inquiring one. “Why did you throw out the mirror?”

She looked at him with big frightened eyes and quickly walked out of the library.

***

Graves looked at the work he had just finished - carefully and obsessively covering the mirror of his vanity with thick fabric. It may have lost its purpose, but at least kept Graves somewhat safe from the terrors of seeing his own face and not recognizing it enough.

He shook off the jacket of his suit and changed it to a darker one with a deep red embroidery by the edge. It looked good enough for a dinner with the Barebones which he was to go down to in but a few minutes.

A strange cold feeling dripped down Graves’ insides. A thought picked at his nerves, a feeling that one gets when their body warns of danger their eyes can’t see yet. Only slowly Graves realised something was off. A shadow, creeping up on him like a predator, its dark weightless hand resting on his shoulder. He could see just an inch of it, but enough to make him turn around abruptly. He fully expected to see someone standing over him, looming like an animal ready to pounce, but there was no one. 

Apart from a shadow on the wall in front of him, so painfully familiar with its outlines. It stood motionless and it needed no eyes to make Graves feel pierced with its glance.

“A dark reflection of yours is a reflection still,” muttered Graves, looking at the shadow on the wall.

The shadow looked quite peculiar in a place where it was not meant to be as the sun moved. Graves’ own shadow rested aside, all too normal.

He couldn’t fail to recognize the hunched outlines of Credence’s figure. God or Devil knows how he managed to sneak this dark existence of himself into Graves’ room which was a whole floor away. But he wasn’t surprised. Intrigued, very much so, but not surprised.

The shadow moved, gliding along the wall and then attaching itself to Graves’ feet. It looked playful, like an earnest puppy, eager for a treat. Graves thrusted his hand out, making his shadow look like it touched Credence’s. The young man’s shadow flinched at the inexistent touch. Graves chuckled and wondered if his mere shadow touch was a reflection true enough, if Credence could actually feel it.

He felt playful himself. He felt aroused.

His shadow’s hand looked like it slowly, respectfully drew a line down the dark body until it found itself where Credence’s crotch would be. If Graves’ sight did not lie, he could swear he saw the shadow shiver a little.

The strangest feeling it was, impressing his own desires in a shadowy look and motion, thrusting the dark reflection of his own hand onto the boy’s body. He had already been invited and the shadow looked eerily eager.

That very shadow squirmed and shivered, looking as if it sat on some surface. Graves looked at it in its finest, when the shadow seemed to have received a new detail of a rather erect cock. He laughed a little, but made his own shadow playful and pleasing still. It wasn’t too long till he himself felt tightness in his pants and without thinking or hesitation pushed his other hand into them, finding his hard penis and touching it.

Bizarre and yet… incredible. He watched the shadow of the young man move and squirm more. He could barely find concentration under the pressure of his own fingers on himself. Watching their shadows, he whimpered and came with such strength that it took several more minutes to let go of his cock and catch his breath. The shadow seemed quite the same.

Hot blood rushed to Graves’ cheeks as he pulled his hand back out and rushed to wash it in the small basin.

Delicate knocking sounded from the door, making Graves’ sight go darker with the rush of blood, excitement and terror in his head. Was he heard?

He quickly snapped back the buckle of his belt and wiped his hand off on the towel.

“Please, come in.”

The door swung open and the servant, who he knew was called Agatha, entered the room.

“Ah I thought you have gone down to the dinner, sir. I have brought wa’er for ye flowers here and the basin,” she rushed to the vase with flowers to pour in some water from the jug she was holding on a gleaming silver tray. Graves felt yet another rush of blood as he panicked about the basin.

“Agatha, please, do not worry. I shall have this water replaced later.”

“Very well, sir,” she said promptly, bowing a little. “Mrs. Barebone and the ladies are already in the dining room. Master Credence is late again. Ah, that boy shall go the wrong path. Sir. Per’aps, if you spoke to him, made him see good? Mistress Barebone takes him to the church as any proper man or woman, but I think he has long been taken by the Devil. What a sickly strange little thing!”

Graves listened to the woman talk about Credence but all that time his hearing was buzzing with blood in his head. She was not wrong, he thought. But it didn’t mean it was bad.

“Master Credence shall end up in hell, if he does not rein in his demons.”

She took the tray back in her hands and rushed outside when Graves heard her small “oh!”. Credence stood in the doorway in her way, his eyes unsettled and his cheeks so red, one could think he intentionally painted them with beauty products. His breathing was quick and uneven, making Miss Agatha step back a little.

“Mister Barebone,” she whimpered and rushed out of the room, leaving Graves and Credence trapped amidst a most uncomfortable silence.

He cleared his throat.

“No, Mr. Graves. Not now,” Credence stopped him in a shaken voice. “Let us go to the dining room. Please.”

***

Food was unwelcome as Graves tried to shove at least something down his throat. The family kept shooting him curious looks and only Chastity dared ask what was the matter and if he felt ill.

“Not at all, Miss Barebone. It’s nothing troublesome, merely feeling slightly under the weather.”

Not truly satisfied with the response the matter was left alone. The room was full of cutlery tinkling and strong food smells which only made Graves’ nausea stronger. As he sat across from Credence, he avoided looking him in the eye. He stared at his gleaming spoon. His reflection winked in such an outrageous manner that Graves dropped it onto the plate with the loudest clattering, covering the surface with sauce. Startled, Mrs. Barebone measured him with strong disapproval.

“I wanted to let you know, Dr. Graves,” she began slowly and Graves wondered if it was the final word about his potential desire, “that my daughters and I are going to town tomorrow. We are eager to visit a church there as well, so some arrangements are due for our stay. Would it be too impertinent if I asked you to stay here and see to Credence? He is too… weak to travel, I’m afraid.”

He looked at Credence who stared back, then quickly moved his gaze to Mrs. Barebone. Impenetrable, unreadable, she looked at him coldly and expectantly, as one looks down at a servant.

“Most certainly, ma’am,” he replied curtly. “It will be my pleasure.”

Freedom at last, Graves rejoiced. No scrutiny of Mrs. Barebone, no piercing glances from miss Modesty, no contempt from miss Chastity Barebone. And if he could find isolation with Credence let it be one with no mirrors and fears.

***

It was well past bedtime when things stirred up yet again.

A piercing scream was heard from below, even its muffled sounding terrifying still. Graves startled up in his bed, trying not to move more and listening into the silence. It was soon broken by the sounds of running feet, loud talk and crying. He climbed out of bed and slipped into a robe, leaving his room for the downstairs.

The source of the commotion was lying sprawled on the floor and surrounded by the Barebones and the few servants they had, their black-clothed backs surrounding the scene with a strange mourning air. The physician gently pushed Miss Barebone aside and finally saw what happened.

The girl who earlier entered his room with a tray was dead. The mere idea of miss Agatha, lying there lifelessly like a ragdoll in her crumpled dress, was rather unsettling. Who would hurt such a pure creature as this?

“Everyone please stay calm,” Mrs. Barebone said finally, looking down at the body agitatedly. Graves looked at her sideways and was quite surprised to notice that she did not express sorrow. No, she was exhilarated with fear, much like himself. 

Suddenly Agatha’s head moved. Modesty whimpered, Chastity gave a small scream. Credence, who stood beside her, embraced himself, and Graves could see how his nails dug into the sleeves of his nightshirt.

Everyone froze. Air grew so tense, one could almost touch it like a finely tuned string.

Agatha’s lips began twisting into a macabre smile, almost laughing. It looked happy. Her eyes were widely open, only contributing to her bizarre expression of a laugh. 

One of the servants burst in tears, screaming with terror and trying to push her way back. A trigger - and chaos broke out.

More screaming, even more crying, mad commotion which made Graves feel dizzy and blind. Everyone pushed each other and only Credence stood still, pressed back to the wall and still embracing himself. His eyes were glued to Agatha, and those eyes were milky white… feasting. Graves quickly came up to the young man and closed him from the plain view of others.

“You must control it, my boy,” he fleetingly touched the tip of Credence’s chin, barely visible and concealed as a move to fix his own collar. “Come see me when all this is over.”

He immediately walked back to the Barebones, who now loudly discussed what was to be done, their voices troubled with panic.

They removed Agatha’s body to the servants’ room where Graves was kindly invited to take a look at it. Upon closer investigation, he found himself rather disappointed with the lack of clues. There were no marks of blood, no cuts, nothing to guide him to enlightenment. As if the woman dropped dead for no particular reason but a macabre whim. He examined her head, her hands. No broken limbs, no bruises. All that was left of her life was a bizarre grin and widely opened eyes.

Graves returned to where she was found and immediately noticed it, a satisfying detail that would make sense to no one else but him. There it was, the very tray she was holding earlier lying on the floor in the shadows and reflecting the flickering light of the sconce. He picked it up and watched himself smile again, too tired and too scared to react accordingly.

***

Graves couldn’t sleep anymore. He simply lay in bed, staring at the canopy of his four-poster bed and waiting for the house to awake. The sun had touched the horizon, but the shaken family had been ushered back to their bedrooms for rest. Perhaps, all of them were lying sleeplessly in bed, waiting for the morning, when demons leave or so people think. Ahead was a strange day, as Graves expected, and undoubtedly he’d be involved a great deal. Mrs. Barebone’s plans must have been delayed, which meant his own plans were shattered. Unless someone like Mrs. Barebone couldn’t care less about the death of a servant woman, who was to be buried at the nearest church as soon as was possible.

The door of Graves’ bedroom was open a smidge. It was a trap as much as invitation left for someone he waited for, someone who would most certainly come because no one but Graves understood and accepted him.

It didn’t take long. Steps of cold feet on the cold wooden floor. Quiet noise of a closed door. One step, two, closer and closer until their owner sat lightly on his bed.

“Credence.”

He sat there in his starched nightshirt, his back turned to Graves, shoulders hunched. The white glow of his attire made him look like a ghost. Graves sat up and hovered his face over the boy’s shoulder.

“Are you well?”

The boy shook his head, staring at his lap with big thoughtful eyes. Tears streamed down his face. Graves didn’t have to ask for the reason, instead, he gently pulled at Credence’s shoulders to lie down next to him.

“Shhh, my boy. Your secret, our secret, is safe with me,” he said when Credence’s head lowered on his pillow. Graves sneaked an arm around his shoulders and kissed his temple.

“I wish I could say this…” Credence’s head twitched as if annoyed at itself, “makes me do such things.”

“But it doesn’t  _ make _ you, does it?”

Credence gasped a sob.

“Come here, my boy. You will be cold.”

He folded over a blanket and waited for the young man to climb under it. His ice cold feet touched his ankles and Graves twitched. With a powerful gesture he drew the boy nearer. He was smearing something dark all over his face and Graves’ first guess was that he was bleeding. But when Credence finally looked up, bringing his face to the light of the rising sun, Graves could see dark thick tears in his eyes. Was it blood or demonic residue, he wasn’t sure he knew. But even that blackness had a look of innocence he couldn’t resist.

“Why did Agatha die?” Credence whispered so quietly that Graves could imagine it to be a flicker of a candle light when it goes out.

Graves looked down at the boy.

“Did you not make her?”

“No.”

“But the mirror…”

“I only wanted to scare her. I didn’t know she would die.”

Credence swallowed and continued in a strangled voice.

“I can see all of them. The mirrors. I can do things to them. But when I look at people through mirrors, they are frightened. They can’t see me, or their word would have long been put against me. But what do they see?”

Graves frowned when he remembered his own smiling reflection.

“Why don’t we try and see?”

Credence pressed himself closer to Graves, his nails digging into the man’s skin.

“No.”

“Does it frighten you?”

“Sometimes when I look, I see such things… They are captivating. So dark and captivating yet. Like blood.”

Graves breathed out shakily. Through tears, Credence smiled.

“I noticed you… enjoy blood.”

“It’s sweet.”

Credence fell silent and then added under his breath.

“Yours is sweet.”

Graves blushed. Credence shifted in his embrace and looked up at the ceiling. His black tears rolled on his pale skin.

Eerie silence hung between them. Graves pressed fingers around Credence’s shoulder and rested his head on the top of Credence’s.

“I have a proposition. Once this… issue calms down, once your mother and sisters depart, would you like to come and see my estate?”

The young man darted a surprised gaze at Credence. Oh how many things were in those eyes: amazement, longing, desire, happiness, freedom. Even as they were fogged and white, they were expressive as ever. Beautiful.

“Gladly, Dr. Graves,” he whispered in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love comments, because I'd like to know what this chapter made you think of!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What is a lie and who is the truth? Is truth the darkness of your wistful gaze or the softness of your shy blush? Tell me.”  
>  Graves felt a wave of excitement rush through him as he registered how the young man’s body gave a sigh of relief under his chest.  
> He moved back a little, prompting Credence to look at him.  
> “Tell me truthfully, Credence. Had the darkness possessed you now, what would you have done?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A moment of attention please. What follows is very. very. very. explicit. Also, this is the very first time I'm writing nsfw, so please bear with me and do comment on anything that does or doesn't make sense. I do not, however, vouch for the accuracy of intercourse description :D  
> Oh Lord. Please enjoy :)
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/) :)

For a few days now Graves had a persistent feeling that he became a character in a book. That character who you pay little attention to, a mere fleeting acquaintance or a supporting role whose task was to provide a helping hand and then retreat to life which had no place in the plot.

He was Mrs. Barebone’s advisor, he was poor Agatha’s doctor and he was one solid standing figure who had to emit as much calmness and resolution as possible amidst the chaos.

It had been almost a week since the poor girl’s death and since Graves invited young Barebone to his estate. No moment seemed quite right nor did it feel ethical to crave for romantic intimacy when the house was drowning in its own darkness and the smell of death.

And amidst that darkness stood a source of bright light, however contradictory it may have been. Credence, who lifted the heaviness in Graves’ chest, who brightened his mood and made his heart fill with so much adoration that he didn’t quite know what to do with it. Day after day Graves asked himself, how could a demon be more angelic than so many people he happened to encounter?

Sometimes he wondered if it was mere justification. Never had he heard a small voice in his mind, reminding him that that very demon committed a murder, dragged him into the most bizarre sexual relationship and put him in a place where darkness was the thickest.

No, it was in small reminders, little details and words whispered in ears.

“Credence, you must.”

Graves heard Chastity’s voice from around the corner. He could see two shadows falling on the floor and disappearing on the dark surface of the wall, he could see one of the shadows moving weight from one leg to another. Could see the blurred edges of the lady’s gown which she was tugging at nervously.

“It will ruin everything,” Credence replied in a voice just as hushed as his sister’s. “You must not tell Dr. Graves.”

“Brother, you trust him beyond what is appropriate and he does the same for you. You told me how much you liked him when you met for the first time. Surely, a man so sensible and good-natured will understand.”

“I cannot,” Credence croaked.

Graves stood motionless and unbreathing, his feet steady on the creaking planks. A pause, so uncomfortable and tense, hung in the air, making Graves’ skin tingle.

“Credence, he knows I threw out the mirror,” Chastity whispered and Graves had to move himself closer to the corner to hear the conversation proceed. “He asked me if I knew what happened.”

“Did you tell him?”

There was another pause where Chastity’s shadow shook its head, followed by a small relieved sigh.

“You must tell him, Credence. I know it’s hurting you, Agatha told me she saw blood in your washing basin--”

“It was nothing. I just injured my finger.”

“Agatha looked rather terrified to me, the way she described streaks of dark blood spilled all over.”

Graves tugged at his collar, feeling it push at his neck unpleasantly. Credence never told him, never confided about it. Secrets piled up on one another with brutal heaviness.

“She must have imagined it.”

“And then she died, Credence!” Chastity cried out, her shadow moving after Credence’s. Their shoes loudly hit the floor as the lady dashed to hold onto her brother’s arm. Graves listened in carefully, hand still resting on his collar.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Credence hissed. “Please, I did nothing. I did nothing. I did nothing!”

His voice broke into sobbing which was soon muffled. Their shadows melded and Chastity cuddled her brother and muttered soft apologies.

A moment later they exited the hall, leaving Graves alone with confused and dark thoughts. He inhaled dusty air and wondered why everything revolved around blood and death.

***

Mrs. Barebone and her daughters had to postpone their journey for quite a while. Nearly a month had passed since Agatha’s death. Graves was still a welcomed guest in the house, now held there by the circumstances of the servant’s departure and Credence’s health still. He knew whispers already crawled into the neighbourhood, but both Dr. Graves and Mrs. Barebone deflected them skillfully.

“Dr. Graves is a highly competent physician,” Mrs. Barebone said when all of them visited the local Assembly. Acquaintances, gathered round one table, listened to the lady who carefully fed them compliments about the physician. Graves, however, found it both amusing and unsettling, uncertain why exactly Mrs. Barebone was so keen on keeping him in the estate, even if his help was hardly needed with things taken care of with Agatha. And yet, he did not object. He lived up to Mrs. Barebone’s words by performing little gestures to show his care for Credence, whose sickly pale complexion played in hand. And much to the man’s delight, it was an excuse to gift the boy touches of fondness that grew with each day.

One of the gentlemen, whose name Graves couldn’t quite remember, addressed Mrs. Barebone in a tone which greatly resembled hers with its drawling laziness and coldness.

“Ma’am, if I recall correctly, you were opening a school for the village girls by the parish. Is this plan still in your priorities?”

The woman smiled at him.

“Quite so, Mr. Shaw. As a matter of fact, my daughters and I are visiting the school and the parish in just a few days.”

Graves’ glance darted towards Credence who stared back just as intensely. They didn’t need mentioning it, it was understanding beyond words that it was their chance to grab.

“Then I wish you a safe journey. I’m certain such a good deed will not go unnoticed,” Mr. Shaw smiled at the woman with a sense of finality, and the conversation took another turn.

The whole evening was now a blur of colours and the noise of conversations to Graves. One thought, just one enticing thought, busied his mind entirely. The thought that he could still get a chance of having Credence all to himself in a space which was familiar to every detail. A safe refuge for them both.

Much later that evening, while the house was slowly and steadily putting itself to sleep, Graves approached the young man in his room.

He leaned onto the door frame, looking about. This bedroom had become quite familiar to him, everything inside the room, even the air itself, soaking in his scent with the frequency of his visits. Credence stood by the basin, his face wet from washing. As soon as he noticed Graves, his body jerked in conflict of staying put or rushing towards the man to receive a small kiss or a squeeze of a shoulder. He remained at the basin.

“Credence, good night,” Graves said softly, not moving anywhere. He fumbled with his sleeve. “After today’s… let’s call it news, I came to inquire if my invitation is still of interest to you. I know it’s been a month and, perhaps, time has changed your mind--”

“It didn’t.”

His response was quick and harsh with eagerness. 

“I would still like to visit your estate, Dr. Graves,” the young man said firmly. He wiped his face with his arm and made a step towards the physician.

Graves touched his arm gently and reduced his voice to whisper.

“Then I shall arrange it. And on the day your mother and sisters leave, so will we.”

***

A small carriage was waiting at the entrance of the Barebones estate, a pair of horses at its front. Mrs. Barebone had already sat inside, waiting for her daughters who hurried out of the house, clumsily holding onto their hats. Graves gently reached out for Chastity, helping her get inside. She smiled at him weakly.

“Take care of my little brother, Dr. Graves, please,” she whispered. He nodded at her with lips pressed into a tiny smile. He stepped aside, trying to let little miss Modesty in with the help of his hand, but she moved away, piercing him with a cold mistrustful glance. She said nothing but her gaze was meaningful enough. The man wondered why such hatred blossomed its poisonous flowers in the girl’s heart.

At last, the carriage door was closed and Graves watched the family depart, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

The further the carriage drove, the closer his idea seemed to be. It pulled at his nerves, tickled his skull and made his heart beat madly against his ribs with excitement.

Another carriage, smaller and more beautiful with its intricate carved design, pulled up to the entrance. It was Graves’ one, sent from the estate to pick him and Credence up for the journey. The driver smiled at his master, tipping his hat. Graves smiled back and finally turned on his heels to hurry back inside the estate.

Credence was waiting for him in the hall, wearing an old coat over his hunched shoulders. Graves reached out for his hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

“Are you ready to depart?”

“Yes, Mr. Graves.”

Sneaking a hand into the crook of Percival’s arm, the young man and Graves walked outside to board their own carriage. The driver helped them settle in and before they knew it, the carriage was out and on the road towards Graves’ manor.

The journey was to take half an hour at least, and Graves relaxed in his seat, looking at Credence sitting opposite him. The boy stared down at the carriage floor, his hands held together in his lap.

“You do not need to worry, Credence. I will do all in my power to ensure this visit is enjoyable.”

“I’m not worried, sir,” Credence replied, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. Graves looked at him softly, his heart trembling with anticipation. He barely had any idea of what were to happen at his house, but he would have been a liar if he said he did not expect the continuation of the “shadow play”.

“I hope you will find my house acceptable.”

“I did on my previous visit.”

“Yes, but I hope your impression remains… pleased.”

Credence smiled, and so did Graves.

“Why don’t you sit by my side, Credence? My window has a perfect view of the sunset.”

Credence waited for a moment before relocating to sit next to Graves. Immediately the man caught him by his shoulders and brought his thin figure closer to his chest. Graves looked down at the boy, whose hand rested on his heart. He covered it with his own hand and rubbed those bruised fingers.

“Soon nothing will worry you. No deaths will occur, no darkness will follow. We will light a hundred candles and busy ourselves to the point of complete indifference to the outer world,” Graves whispered hotly in the boy’s ear.

Credence leaned onto Graves and nuzzled into his neck. They spoke no more for the rest of the journey which was full of nothing else but the shaking of the carriage and gradual thick nightfall.

***

Graves didn’t quite realise how much he missed his home, but when at last the dots of fire in the windows grew closer, he felt an urge to get inside as soon as possible. He wanted to hear the familiar creaking of wooden planks under his feet, the distant ticking of a grandfather’s clock. He wanted to breathe in the smell of the house and the light scent of the essence he burnt every now and then to freshen up the rooms. He wanted to show Credence around once again after their initial meeting. He simply wanted to spend time with the young man, time which wasn’t overshadowed by a cruel family, but fully devoted to each other.

They left the carriage swiftly, their suits getting sprinkled with a mild rain, and entered the house which welcomed them with warmth. Graves could feel his cold fingers drown in the heat of a roaring fireplace, burning in the sitting room. There was a small table, ready for tea, which Graves credited to his intuitive housekeeper. She was nowhere to be seen as per his letter’s request and by giving a glance at the housekeeper’s small cottage, he could see fire lit in there. Graves smiled. The estate held no one but the two of them now.

“Let us sit and warm ourselves after the journey,” Graves welcomed Credence into the large sitting room.

Though Graves had been used to the vast and lonely space of his sitting room, he somehow felt uneasy showing it to Credence this time. Even with its sofas and decorations and a magnificent piano forte the room seemed too big and desolate for its owner. The only source of light was the fireplace, where they sat at a round table with a tea set. As a good host, Graves tinkered with the kettle and prepared tea for both of them. Credence held his cup timidly, scrutinized under Graves’ soft stare.

“Do you find the estate in a good condition?” he asked casually, tasting hot tea from his cup. Credence looked up, gaze flicking at the many rows of books which lined the walls next to the fireplace.

“I always did,” he replied with a tiny smile. His cup clattered loudly on the saucer.

“I’m pleased.”

Silence hung in the air, one that was painted with anticipation as both knew this lovely tea party was not exactly what they traveled for. Despite the enjoyment and elation this little activity brought, Graves couldn’t help feeling the haunting touch of the demon, as if it called for pleasantries to be over.

But Graves didn’t want to give in so easily. Stretching the pleasure, putting it away to reach out for it later was a much more torturing and yet satisfying design.

After having a hot drink, Credence and Graves settled in a soft couch now to be warmed with each other’s embrace. Graves held the young man close to himself, occasionally kissing his temple. The weight of Credence in his lap was comforting. His long arms wrapped around his neck and his face was nuzzled in the crook of Graves’ shoulder. He patted the young man’s back and rubbed it slowly. The more he caressed him, the stronger Credence seemed to press into the man’s chest.

“I craved for a moment with you, Mr. Barebone,” Graves whispered in his ear. “You have been quite a tease these days. More than a tease, a desire so unreachable. But I cannot fathom you out, I fail to understand which of your motivations are true.”

Graves’ hand rested on Credence’s neck. The boy stopped moving entirely, his body pressed so close to Graves he felt the physical rhythm of a madly beating heart in his chest. In a velvety whisper he went on.

“What is a lie and who is the truth? Is truth the darkness of your wistful gaze or the softness of your shy blush? Tell me.”

Graves felt a wave of excitement rush through him as he registered how the young man’s body gave a sigh of relief under his chest. 

He moved back a little, prompting Credence to look at him.

“Tell me truthfully, Credence. Had the darkness possessed you now, what would you have done?”

“Kissed you, sir.”

“Would you do it as you are now? Unguided by the dark hand?”

Graves tilted his head a little, looking in Credence’s eyes and holding him close to himself. Credence leaned in slowly and uncertainly, but so eager. His breath reached Graves’ face, his lips awkwardly touched his, so untaught but curious. Graves parted his mouth, allowing Credence to taste tea off his lips, to see what it’s like to kiss him. Credence’s hands, still wrapped round his neck, now seemed to hold onto him for dear life.

Ever so languidly they kissed, savouring each other’s lips and drowning in the gentle touches of their hands and their faces.

Graves pulled away again and looked at Credence’s flushed face.

“I have a proposition,” he kissed the young man’s cheek, his lips wet. “Why don’t we see what your darkness is truly capable of when unleashed?”

Credence swallowed, his eyes trained directly at Graves’ chest. The physician smiled.

“Does it not intrigue you? Does it not ignite your curiosity, does it not kindle your…”

His hand slid down Credence’s cheek and onto his neck.

“Your desire?”

“Dr. Graves… I have revealed myself to you in a most surprising manner, I am certain,” his voice trembled but he went on, digging his hands into Graves’ suit for support. “I’m willing to open up more. I cannot say, however, what will happen. You might be in danger.”

“I’m ready to take the risk.”

He rubbed his nose against Credence’s, keeping his eyes closed and enjoying the moment.

“Just tell me what to do,” he whispered into Credence’s mouth, planting a sloppy but quick kiss on it.

***

The way to his bedroom was too long. He wished he could take Credence in his arms and bring him there in a blink of an eye, but it would have been too complicated to do when he was so busy with kissing Credence every step of their way. Their kiss kept being somewhat innocent and gentle, where no tongues were involved, where teeth did not bite. He preferred it that way, and so must have Credence, whose cheeks still had a most delicate tone of crimson.

Graves’ room was just as warm as the living room. The windows were closed, fire roared welcomingly in the fireplace. His bedroom was decorated in a rather dark style, which was only accentuated by the flickering light of fire. A fresh bouquet of roses from the garden was standing on a bedside table, emitting a barely conceivable scent, raw but pleasant. It mixed with a smell of various medicines which were the acknowledgement of Graves’ profession. Tiny bottles and boxes cluttered the vanity from where the smell came the strongest.

Graves let go of Credence, pulling away from yet another kiss, and turned around.

“Here it is,” he gestured at a tall mirror standing next to his canopy bed. The mirror was a tasteful item, its frame cut out of dark brown wood and gleaming a little with a layer of polish. It reflected the two men who stood by each other’s side, their facial expressions on tenterhooks.

“We cannot turn back once it’s done, Dr. Graves,” said Credence, grasping the man’s hand. Graves looked at the mirror.

“I look forward to it, Credence.”

He turned Credence gently to face him and gave him a longing look, gently rubbing his cheek. Credence closed his eyes.

“Then do it.”

Graves exhaled quietly, hiding away his terrified heart. Credence was quite insistent and careful in his instructions earlier as he explained. They were of a most macabre manner, “feed the mirror with blood”, but they promised Graves the satisfaction of his curiosity and hunger. Ever since he stroked himself while watching Credence’s shadow squirm under his impossible touch, he couldn’t stop wondering what would happen if they had taken it further. He yearned for Credence’s real touch as much as he ached to give Credence actual physical pleasure. With a whole place, a whole night if not more ahead, he wondered how many limits they could push, how many areas explore.

He wanted to do it beautifully. Of course, he had a variety of sharp instruments at his disposal, lying in a box on the vanity, but they held no style or sense of beauty. Instead, with gentle care, Graves removed a few roses from the vase on his bedside table and turned back to Credence, who watched expectantly. He shook off the water excess and moved his hand up a little, feeling for the sharp ends of thorns. Graves looked at Credence who was tense with anticipation. With all his thoughts concentrated on the beauty of the young man before him, of engulfing love spreading in his chest, he squeezed the thorny stems, feeling sharp ends bite into his skin, pierce it and make it bleed. A sacrifice he deemed necessary, let the demon feast on his blood.

Credence’s gaze was transfixed on Graves’ hand which held bloodied roses. Graves felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes as he pressed the stems into his palms, watching the blood drip down in the thinnest trickles and down the rough edges of the rose leaves. At last he let go of them. Pain in his hand was immense, burning, and he hurried to press his aching bleeding hand on the mirror.

Credence gasped. A gasp akin to a pleasurable wave. He staggered and Graves rushed to hold him close.

The young man’s body arched. Graves could feel the sharp line of a spine of Credence’s back, felt the young man’s hands digging into his forearms with painful force. Credence threw back his head at a horrifying angle, soundless and unhearing. Graves looked at his delightful neck, bare from the loosened collar. Without thinking long he leaned in and covered that luscious patch of skin with his opened mouth, licking at it and sucking. Credence writhed in his arms and, much to Graves’ pleasure, let out a moan so physical, that Graves could feel it with his tongue.

Credence’s breathing changed, quick and ragged it left his chest in small pushes as his body struggled. All the more exciting it seemed as Graves waited for the darkness inside Credence to establish itself and bring out what the young man was too afraid to reveal with no bloodlust to guide him.

Finally the thrashing stopped and for a moment Credence went limp. Graves held him close and looked at that beautiful pale face. He touched it with his hand, drew a line from the brow and down the cheekbones. How beautiful his eyes were now, opaque white and staring blindly at Graves. Credence’s mouth was redder with all the kissing, lips puffy but already dry. Percival brought a bloodied thumb to Credence’s lower lip.

Credence inhaled the scent of blood as soon as it reached his nose.

Just this little detail made Graves agitated. His thumb touched Credence’s lip delicately. He rubbed his own blood into those cracked lips, the tip of his nail pushing under a puffy upper lip, making that mellow mouth part a little, wetting the blood with saliva. Graves couldn’t help but push his thumb further, touching Credence’s teeth and painting them red.

Shivers ran down Graves’ whole body when Credence’s mouth enclosed on his finger, teeth biting on it, hot tongue licking around and over it. Painful bites were certain to leave marks on his skin but it was a pleasure still.

Credence released Graves’ thumb with a sloppy smacking sound. His mouth, covered with a light tint of blood, looked alluring. The young man licked at his own lips, tasting the blood and tempting Graves to kiss him. But he did not, instead licking the mix of blood and saliva off his own finger as if it were the leftovers of a dessert.

It was only then that Graves realised how fast his own breathing was. How hard his cock was and how pleasant the rub of his undergarments on it felt. His cheeks flushed a little as he gazed down at the little carnivore before him whose whole being was an insane combination of innocence and lust. As if it was a delicious candy, wrapped in a thick layer of chocolate only to reveal the sweetest cream inside.

Credence brought his gaze up to look with those milky white eyes which managed to stay expressive, hungry and longing. Graves felt relieved with the pace as Credence’s hands slipped under the folds of his tailcoat and removed it from his shoulders. Tossed aside like a rag. With impatience his long fingers worked their way through buttons of the vest which met the same fate as the tailcoat on the floor. But when all that was left of the upper garments was a shirt, Credence slowed down. Graves began pulling at the hems of the shirt when the young man’s hands caught them and pulled them away.

Now Credence did not rush. All his movements were slow to the point of torturing. At last he leaned in and Graves felt his hot mouth cover the line of his neck, his teeth brush his skin. He felt the wetness of a tongue which drew slow circles. Graves tilted his head, feeling blazing excitement swell in his chest. His own heartbeat drowned out the noise of the windows, rattling a little in the storm beginning outside. Graves’ whole being was consumed by that surprisingly skillful, eager-to-please tongue that now drew a line down his chest.

Where the buttons came undone, Credence’s mouth left a wet trail on the skin. Graves felt slight shiver in his legs, how they seemed to have given up on standing straight and were ready to drop Graves at any surprising turn.

Graves wondered whether it was an advantage or disadvantage of modern fashion to wear quite so many pieces of clothing. His impatience was tested to limits, and yet this slow burning process was doing things to his mind which he admitted he quite liked. He had rather hoped to get out of what remained soon, because the prominent bulge in his trousers was becoming almost painful.

As if hearing his thoughts, Credence’s hands let go of his own and lowered down the braces. A set of buttons was dealt with and soon after Graves was ready to beg for the last pieces of undergarments to come down. 

Graves held at Credence’s neck, shoulders, smudging blood from his still bleeding hands over ghostly skin. Pain was still there and not in the slightest relieved with the oddly high temperature of Credence’s body. One of his hands slipped inside Graves’ undergarments, momentarily touching him, enough to make Graves lose his breath for a second. Another hand finally got rid of the piece of clothing which held Graves back. 

He felt exposed. He  _ was _ exposed. His erection partly hidden under the long shirt but so obvious to him. His arousal was all that busied his mind and he felt embarrassed for such an animalistic craving.

With a most surprising move Credence pushed his leg between Graves’, the pressure of his limb against the hardness of the man’s cock. He squeezed his eyes shut, imagining how good it would be to rub himself against Credence’s leg, to grind into the softness of fabric and to finally spill all over him without shame.

He didn’t notice how he began fulfilling his dream. How both torturing and wonderful it was to move himself against Credence, pleasurable tremble holding him tight. His shirt had long folded up, revealing his erection in full.

“Oh my,” he managed to croak out as the desired apex seemed so close. He wanted to move faster and harder, but it must have been out of Credence’s plan for he pulled away, leaving Graves leaning after him and hurting in desire. Before the man could touch himself, Credence took his hands and placed them on his chest where a tangle of tied shirt ribbons waited to be loosened.

“You do know what you are doing,” growled Graves, watching blood soak into the clothes. He leaned in and bit into the fabric of Credence’s shirt. It was better than concentrating on the throbbing pain of arousal in his penis which was sure to drive him mad. Angrily he pulled at the fabric, calming down a little with each yank at the ribbons.

“All in good time, Dr. Graves,” Credence spoke in a voice raspy and quiet. His fingers danced over his own chest and finally his shirt came undone, revealing a bare chest, so beautiful and pale, waiting to be touched. It heaved with Credence’s panting, which was a view so mesmerizing, Graves was almost ensnared by it.

With shaking hands Graves helped the young man to get rid of the pants. He kneeled before Credence and pulled at the trousers, making them slide down and reveal something which Graves was rather pleased to see. Strained hard against the fabric of the underwear, Credence’s cock waited to be freed from the fabric hold and touched. Graves leaned in and kissed it through the undergarment, making Credence twitch in surprise.

Surrounded by a heap of clothes, the two men stood before each other. The wind which sneaked out of the window and danced around the room like a wild animal was whipping the fabric of Graves’ shirt over their skin and cooling down their heated bodies. Credence looked at the physician with eyes unseeing and white. Even with irises absent Graves could see how those eyes searched for something.

Credence turned around slowly, his body almost gliding across the room and towards the window. Graves watched his figure, so pale that it seemed glowing, studied the elegant lines of his tall body. Credence raised his arms and closed the window frames first, then tugged at the curtains and drew them together.

Before the warm flames of the fireplace could embrace and light up the room, they went out with unusual speed, leaving Graves blind in the darkness of his own bedroom.

There were no sounds. No movements. The room seemed empty and threatening as Graves looked around, hoping for his eyesight to adjust, so he could find Credence, who seemed to have dissolved into darkness along with the flames.

And thus it was entirely unexpected, and Graves gasped when Credence’s hot smooth hand closed around his cock.

He gasped and panted at the touch, feeling overwhelmed as Credence’s hand moved up and made him moan involuntarily. The grasp of his hand was so hot that he felt only compelled to thrust into it and hope for the end to come sooner. His legs gave in and his hand clenched around the young man’s forearm for support. He was stroked off slowly and thoroughly and he pushed into Credence’s hand without any sense of shame. All this time he stared into his opaque white eyes and wondered if Credence could truly see him from behind this curtain of strange fog.

His hand seemed to slow down and Graves moaned again.

“No, please… please…”

‘Doesn’t it feel good?”

“It does, fuck…”

“Perhaps I should stop and start over.”

“Please, no…”

He felt his legs become jelly-like, putting him in danger of falling on Credence’s chest. His foot stepped forwards a little, his body pressed into Credence’s from an upcoming wave of orgasm. Credence placed an arm on his back and pressed him close, his other hand leading Graves to the highest point of enjoyment, fingers hard and strong on his flesh. 

“I can’t… anymore…”

Graves gasped when a shocking wave rushed through him, making him spill all over Credence’s hand. He continued pushing into the offered hand, now faster and smoother as said hand was covered with his come. He breathed out, hanging off the young man’s shoulder, slowing down and going numb.

His heart jolted when he realised it was just the beginning, it had to be. And now he had but a moment to catch his breath. 

Graves raised his eyes and met the glance of his reflection in the bloodied mirror behind Credence’s back. His face was red and his eyes seemed foggy. A lock of hair fell over his forehead and stuck to it.

Graves cuddled into Credence’s embrace, feeling his chin rest on his shoulder. A low quiet moan of a strange song reached his ears, as Credence pulled away to press his lips to his collarbone. The tune sounded eerie and resounded terribly with the howling wind. Graves wanted it to stop but his voice was lost somewhere deep in his chest and he couldn’t make a sound.

The excitement down in his stomach cooled down, the moaning tune died out and he was gently swayed in the young man’s arms. Slowly, he felt himself guided away to the bed. Holding Credence close, he sat on the soft mattress with the young man’s legs wrapped around his torso. The intimacy, the touch was thrilling, a lingering echo of arousal at his disposal to be brought back at any moment by a mere touch.

Slowly he leaned back until his body rested on smooth and cold fabric of the bed cover. Credence looked over him and Graves stared back up, suddenly so powerless. He took in the impressive sight of something so supernatural as Credence. A wilderness tamed.

Credence stared down at Graves and took his own cock in his hands. His head tilted a little, like an eerie doll with white eyes, he began stroking himself at such a quick pace that Graves was painfully jealous of. His own cock was already hard and spreading pre-cum. Graves’ body arched with nothing but air to push in. He eagerly moved his hand which was shakily caught by Credence and pulled away. And so Graves was left with a throbbing desire and a most delicious arousing view before him. Credence’s stroking looked harsh, his grip strong and almost painful. Something black gathered at the head, something that was meant to be translucent. Black residue was now spilling out as Credence cried out, reaching his climax so fast and brutal, and Graves pushed himself up a little, his gestures and movements all begging to feel the same way. 

It suddenly fit as a puzzle in his mind that, perhaps, this was what Agatha saw in the basin. Just like Graves washed off his translucent evidence, so did Credence, after what one could call “their shadow intercourse”.

The young man moved his hand back, all dirty with blackness and slightly red. His fingers touched the tip of Graves’ cock and he moaned loudly with what sounded like a relief. He was ready. And yet, Credence wasn't going to let him go easily. He tapped at the head with his thumb, rubbed it a little and--

“Credence, please!”

A loud cry escaped his throat and tears trickled from his eyes when Credence scratched him momentarily with a nail of his thumb. 

But even then what he craved for wouldn't happen. Instead Credence moved his hand down and began rubbing circles around the base of his cock, teasing him, so close and yet so far. Graves squirmed under those light touches. 

“Have mercy,” he managed to croak out. This had to be the one and only time Graves begged. 

Satisfied with such slow torture, the young man leaned down and began sliding his flat hand over the top of Graves’ cock. It was a relief beyond imaginable, but he wanted more, he wanted to thrust into something forcefully, hotly. 

A wet hot tongue touched the bottom of his penis, and Graves decided he was going insane. The young man's lips sucked at the side of it, and his fingers tapped the head again. Graves gripped onto the fabric beneath him, moaning and squirming and crying until the very last moment he felt he could bear no more. He could almost reach for that, all the nerves inside him burning --

“No. Please, don't come yet, Dr. Graves,” Credence said loudly, sliding his hands off and leaving Graves there miserable and high on arousal.

It took him some time to calm down, for his eyes to see properly again. His breathing smoothed out and erection fell, although much to his painful dissatisfaction. Credence sat on top of him, playing casually with his own cock. 

Graves looked up, admired Credence’s smooth bare chest, dark hard nipples, a slightly hollow with heavy breathing ribcage, a hard cock which Graves eagerly took in his hands. He slid his hand down, another massaging his balls. Credence squirmed under his touch and leaned down, his body arching gracefully. Graves spread his own legs, unable to stop the heat of arousal from gathering. They were so close, panting in unison, as Graves continued stroking the young man off. His own cock was already getting hard again, rising and touching Credence’s stomach. 

One of his hands roamed over Credence’s chest, rubbing at the young man’s nipples. Graves wondered if he could spur the demon for more, if more blood would have made it even less restrained. He wanted to dig into that skin and leave marks all over, for Credence belonged to him as much as he belonged to Credence.

His nails scratched the young man’s skin. He moaned and moved faster, thrusting into Graves’ rough large hand. His cock was already blackened by strange demonic come which Graves couldn’t fail to find aesthetic. 

“I want more,” Credence said hoarsely. Graves’ bloody hands began moving faster and Credence let out a whimpering moan. He pushed his forehead to Graves’ and stared into his dark eyes. His body trembled, he was so close… 

He leaned in and covered Graves’ mouth with a hungry kiss. He bit on the man’s lips and Graves could still taste his own blood in Credence’s mouth. The iron scent hit his nose with its raw intensity. The taste worked like a lure for the predator that Credence turned out to be. His teeth caught Graves’ lower lip and let go immediately. He whimpered, pulling away for a moment before biting on the man’s lip again, this time harder. Graves flinched but didn’t stop him. He opened up his mouth instead, letting Credence nip his lips, allowing his teeth leave bloody marks on the sensitive wet skin of his mouth. It was as if Credence wanted to make Graves’ very mouth bleed. Pain grew on as he bit but Graves simply couldn’t find the strength or desire to pull away. It was yet another insanity he liked.

And all the while Graves’ hands slowly stroked Credence, bringing him to the edge of pleasure. He himself was hard and dripping but complying with Credence’s request not to come. It hurt him, it made him throb with want, beclouded his mind. All he could do was concentrate on the shivering pleasure and on stroking Credence, who thrusted into his hands and all but sobbed with each push.

“I want more,” Credence repeated, his voice angry and low. The sharp nails of one hand grazed Graves’ chest and another hand slapped Graves’ hand away. The man looked up at him.

“How much more?” His voice was weak and his body strained painfully. 

“Please, turn around,” Credence, his legs obviously shaking, his mind no less obviously fogged, slid from Graves’ lap and waited for the man to oblige and turn over. 

And without a single thought Graves did, following Credence’s every whim. He agreed to follow his lead, he gave in and allowed himself to be used and pushed around this night. He wanted to know how it would feel, having no control. Being  _ under _ control.

He felt the cool fabric of his blanket under his chest. It was a welcome contrast to his beating heart, to the black sticky substance which covered his stomach. He felt the tip of Credence’s cock on this backside and he swallowed. He was tight, unprepared, and if Credence were to enter him now, he would lose himself in pain. But deep inside, he wanted it, craved for it so badly that he inadvertently began humping the blanket. His body arched as he stroked his cock in the fabric. Its silky surface, smooth and still a bit cool guided him slowly towards orgasm. Credence’s balls followed him, the young man's hard cock sliding a little between his butt cheeks and maddening him with the proximity of a desired connection. 

The soft folds of the blanket were much more forgiving and accepted the whole length of his penis, giving him what Credence so cruelly denied. Graves’ throat vibrated with prolonged moans and the faster and harder he humped, the louder he was. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes and he almost came, almost came… 

Knocking came from the window, forceful, loud and clattering, as if a dozen hands hammered at it. Graves’ heart missed a beat and he gasped and cried out, hands digging into the blanket and his whole body shaking. Taken by surprise, engulfed by fear, he suddenly hit the apex, seed spilling out of him. His body went numb yet again, both from a forceful orgasm and the knocking which was not meant to be. He could feel Credence lying still and heavy on him, hands holding onto his shoulders.

“What is it?” Graves mumbled, unable to move much yet. 

“Pay no attention,” Credence whispered in his ear, hands painfully squeezing Graves’ shoulders and lips biting and kissing hungrily at the back of his neck.

It was maddening. Graves could feel how overloaded all his senses were. Credence made sure to take care of all his particularly sensitive patches of skin, he kissed and caressed him. Graves was painfully aware of the insanely loud window clattering, hitting on his hearing and deafening him. His body, partly paralysed after a shattering orgasm, was already returning to riling hot feeling of arousal which was only encouraged by Credence’s demanding tongue.

“I asked you not to come, Dr. Graves,” he bit on Graves’ skin with frustration. Graves turned his head, breathing heavy and humid on the fabric of the blanket.

“I couldn’t hold back.”

“Would you promise me not to until I ask?” Credence’s voice grew gentler and softer as did his kissing.

“Anything for you, my boy,” Graves complied, voice breaking. 

The knocking at the window stopped and Graves sighed in relief. His nerves were strained, his body was tired from overwhelming sensitivity which did nothing to help him stop from being aroused. Credence nudged him to turn back over and the man did with immense effort. His legs were spread and open and Credence stood close to him, never letting their bodies  part from the contact.

Even in the darkness of the room Graves could see dark bloody smudges on the young man’s puffy lips. He brought his hand up, placed a trembling thumb on that lower lip. Credence flicked his tongue at it and bit a little. Graves smiled.

“So how much more do you want?”

With a shiver running through his body like a strike of a lightning bolt, not ready for what happened, Graves felt Credence’s fingers touch his hole. Slowly he worked him to open up enough, making Graves bite at his own lips and tremble in anticipation.

And at last Graves knew just how much more Credence wanted. He felt himself being filled inside as the young man entered him slowly, not thrusting at full force yet but rather letting Graves settle in with the feeling and accept small pain. It was all he could concentrate on, the feeling of Credence’s cock inside him, moving in and out and hitting at the right spot just so. His hands jerked and grabbed at the bed cover which was already nothing but a damp mess of a fabric.

“Credence,” Graves didn’t recognize his voice which sounded hoarse and too high.

The young man leaned even closer, kissing Graves’ chin as he did. He filled him in slowly and to the core, breathing now nothing but ragged exhalations combined with low and sharp moans.

Credence prompted Graves to move backwards, holding his cock inside the man and making him squirm and beg for the thrusting to return. It was awkward and a bit painful but he complied, sliding with Credence’s help across the bed just a little. His head hung off the edge of the bed, blood rushing to his face and eyes, giving him a second breath. He could see the mirror upside down now with a most unusual reflection it had ever had. He could see Credence on top of him, his thin tall body a majestic tower, looming over him, sliding in and out as he fucked him slowly. Graves couldn’t help staring at their eerie reflection, lit up just a bit by the moonlight which poured through a tiny crack between the heavy curtains.

It took all his concentration to gather his scattered wits and focus on his own throbbing cock which was now trapped between his and Credence’s stomach. What little friction he received wasn’t nearly enough to bring him off, and he squirmed from the feeling of Credence’s cock inside him, hoping it would be the one driving force to make him come.

The young man still moved steadily, gasping and moaning in unison with Graves who already couldn’t feel his own lips because of how numb from biting they had became.

It was a wicked but pleasurable sight, watching himself being thrusted into in the mirror reflection. Credence went faster and faster, losing strength in his own limbs, trembling hands falling on Graves chest and holding onto his sides for support. He gasped out Graves’ name like there were no more words in his vocabulary left, and his voice was filled with love and lust to the brim.

Every time he lost his voice to hoarse whispers, when he seemed he was almost  _ there _ , he slowed down and began moving faster.

“Touch me please, Credence,” Graves said, tears wetting the corners of his eyes again as he held onto the bed cover, pushing onto Credence’s dick as much as the young man pushed inside him. But he wouldn’t touch him, he wouldn’t just yet, instead pressing himself closer to the man. Graves’ hands grabbed at Credence’s bottom for the lack of other places and moved with him.

Unable to resist any longer, Credence gave in and thrusted speedily inside Graves, moaning and gasping and--

“Oh fuck,” the man cried out when he felt hotness spill deep inside him. Credence cried out quite literally, dark tears appearing round his white eyes. He shivered but continued moving, allowing Graves a taste of what his orgasm could be like.

He still wouldn’t touch him and it made Graves mad. His fingers, his nails dug into the young man’s skin but a wave of pleasure still wouldn’t come.

Credence pulled out and heavily rested on top of Graves. He was panting deeply, planting lazy kisses on Graves’ neck. The man felt excitement burn out a little yet again, pain spreading in his cock as he was yet again denied to come.

It wouldn’t stop. For a whole half an hour more Credence brought Graves to the point of being a sobbing begging mess, tears spilling all over and lips muttering pleas to be allowed to come. He was hard and painfully so when Credence pushed him to the wall where they found themselves standing against. That hungry demon, who seemed easily aroused, was fucking him hard, pressing him into cold wood of the wall planks. This time, however, Credence’s hot hand was wrapped around Graves’ cock and the man forgave everything for the mere touch of it.

It was glorious, feeling Credence inside and outside him, his body enveloped in his embrace, his inside full of him, his stomach covered in the dark blood-like mass of the young man’s demonic come. He bit on his unfeeling lips and merely cried as Credence thrusted himself into his bottom and stroked him off at the same time.

Credence’s skillful hands led him towards an orgasm which he craved for hungrily. His hands took a hold of the tall wall mirror and he held onto it as he was reaching the hurting exploding apex. One movement, one last push inside him, one more jerk of his cock--

He moaned loudly and spilled all over the wall, all over Credence’s hand again. He sobbed and cried as a brutal force of orgasm washed him over briefly and was letting go with immense throbbing pain. Or was it the shatter of the mirror which he smashed with his fist, which tried to hold onto the artsy frame.

His hearing was filled with the sound of a breaking mirror, of his own sobs and of Credence’s cries as he came one more time inside Graves. The strong smell of blood hit him and he pushed his own finger inside his mouth, licking at it and trying to ignore both the immense pleasure and unbearable pain in his newly wounded hand. Old cuts bled as much as new ones but it wasn’t important.

He finally came and it was the most glorious feeling he could hope for.

Credence’s cock slid out of him and the young demon himself embraced Graves from behind, face resting on his sweaty back. He could feel tiny kisses, pecks over his spine, but now they were soothing rather than arousing. Graves turned around and gathered Credence in his arms. He kissed his earlobe, his cheeks, and smudged their clear and black tears together.

“Credence,” he whispered, trembling hands running through the young man’s hair and covering them in gleaming blood. “Credence. Credence…”

***

Graves woke up, feeling a gust of cold wind on his bare shoulder. The windows shook and rattled a little as the weather raged outside. The man turned on his side and blinked before realising he was alone in his bed. Credence was gone.

Failing to find his robe in the mess of clothes and rose petals they left, Graves pulled his nightshirt from the pile and dressed himself in it. He looked at his injured bloodied hand which he managed to nurse to health a little when both Credence and himself managed to go to sleep. The man looked out of the window door which led to a balcony and saw Credence’s figure. He slowly walked towards the door and stared at Credence’s back through the beautiful grated glass. The young man was looking onto the lush moor, hands resting on the stone fence of the balcony

Graves stepped outside, shivering with cold as his body was covered with nothing but cotton. Credence himself was as frozen, as Graves could see now, his shoulders hidden beneath Graves’ robe on his naked body.

“Credence,” Graves called him softly, but the boy startled still. His long eyelashes fluttered and his hands flew up defensively to hug himself. “It is just me.”

The boy rubbed his own arms a little, staring down at their bare feet.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“The weather is quite disagreeable this morning. It’s not wise to be here without any clothes, my boy,” Graves opened his arm invitingly, allowing Credence in his embrace. He hugged him from behind, arms pressed on the boy’s chest. His chin rested softly on his sharp shoulder. Credence’s frame was pressed so close to his own body, that he could feel his heart’s beating as strong as his own. 

They stood before the stone half wall of the balcony, swaying in a cuddle and ignoring the furious gusts of wind. It messed Credence’s bowl haircut which was streaked with dry blood from Graves’ hand, it made the robe he put on billow. Graves could feel wind on his own skin, as it crept under the nightshirt and sent cold goosebumps all over. He closed his eyes and concentrated on what he felt while holding a dear creature in his arms.

“The moor is beautiful.”

“It is,” agreed Graves, opening his eyes and looking over the raging field of wild grass. It looked like a strange deep sea, rippled with wind. There were pale green patches as well as dark green ones, and they flowed in each other under the wind’s pressure.

The same pressure Graves had as he embraced Credence. His hands snuck under his robe and drew a line down Credence’s chest.

The boy breathed out a gasp. His body jerked subtly and it betrayed how much Graves’ touches excited him. Graves wouldn’t have lied - it excited him equally much, playing with Credence, watching him squirm under his fondling. With his thumb pressed against Credence’s nipple, Graves kissed his bare neck. It was reddened by kisses he left during past night and he gently, like a soft wind, hovered his lips above the boy’s skin.

What a contrast it was! Credence, a reflection of darkness which made Graves beg for so much more, was now humbling under his lips and shivering under his every touch. He threw his head back, fitting it in the crook of Graves’ shoulder and revealing a perfect line of his throat. Graves ran his hand from the graceful jawline and down his neck, feeling the movement of Adam’s apple as Credence swallowed.

He kissed his neck up to his chin and gently caressed Credence’s throat before turning the young man around. Catching his face in a gentle touch, he pressed his lips to the boy’s. Slightly swollen, soft, but yielding, his mouth opened, and his body pressed into Graves’ with a passionate force.

“If I weren’t worried for you catching a cold, I wouldn’t have hesitated… But let us return to bedroom, Credence?”

The young man swallowed a “yes”, and Graves walked backwards inside the house, holding Credence’s neck gently and guiding him by his thin torso.

***

The room was cool in the morning breeze of a summer dawn. The sun painted the horizon with the first glimpse of bright warm light, the first one in many days. With the storm calmed down, nature could return to its peaceful summer pace.

Graves was lying on the bed with Credence in his embrace, fingers gently caressing his shoulder. Soft blanket tangled between their ankles, their own legs intertwined cozily with each other’s.

Credence looked at Graves with a weak smile, a smile so content and pleased, so gentle, that Graves could barely believe he thought a demon inside him evil. Was there a demon at all? What evil could be in this creature if it hardly ever meant any harm? It simply was. Dangerous just like fire, but fire doesn’t choose to hurt and nor does the demon if it existed.

Graves cupped the young man’s face. His dark eyes, no longer wrapped in white fog, gleamed in the pale light of the rising sun.

“Soon we will have to return to your estate, my dear Credence. Although I do not wish it,” Graves pressed himself close to Credence, nuzzling in his neck which was covered with many little red spots where his teeth wandered hours before. He caressed the prominent sharp spine on his back, ran hands round his naked torso. 

“You are not cold, I hope?”

Credence said nothing. Graves patted his back a little and smiled into his shoulder.

“My dear Credence, are you warm?”

And yet again the silence was his answer.

“Credence?”

He pulled back, holding Credence at his nape and bringing his face in plain view. The young man smiled and looked at Graves with eyes which barely expressed consciousness. His head lolled a little.

A jolt of panic struck Graves as he looked at the man in his arms. Credence seemed completely unaware of his surroundings. He looked somewhere past Graves with his unseeing eyes and smiled serenely. A black trail of liquid dribbled from the corner of his mouth, drawing an uneven line all down his chin. Graves tapped at it, smudged it in his trembling fingers - it looked like the same liquid that was Credence’s tears a few nights before. The very same dark liquid which splurted out of him during their last night together.

“My boy,” Graves rubbed his chin and gathered Credence in his arms. Hand resting firmly on Credence’s neck, Graves tried his best not to let tears of fear fall on the young man’s precious skin.


	4. Chapter 4

“Credence…”

Graves held the young man in his arms whose head was lolling helplessly from side to side. His vacant eyes stared somewhere still, frightening Graves into thinking that the worst had happened and those eyes truly held life no more. Graves shook his head, trying to get rid of a creeping fear of loss and grief which pulled at his insides and burnt his throat.

Credence gasped. His fingers dug into Graves’ arm, his flesh searing hot on Graves’, temperature rising high enough to be unbearable. His mouth was wide open as were his eyes, hidden behind a sheet of whiteness. His lips were dripping still, harder now, black and red liquid falling off his full mouth without a pause. Graves bit on his own lips as Credence’s fingers pushed hard into his forearms but he held on, he would hold on if it helped Credence.

Soundless terror escaped Credence’s rounded mouth as he screamed without noise. His chest was hollow as if he lost breath, his ribs sharp under his skin. Graves reached out, a gentle touch on Credence’s cheek, a loving movement to let him know he was there.

His gesture was rejected with a slap over his hand, albeit unintentional. Credence thrashed about, his body wild and untamed, and Graves could barely hold him, let alone stop him from shaking and jerking.

“Credence, can you hear me?” he raised his voice but the young man seemed as oblivious as before, crying and gasping and writhing as if his entire body was in unbearable pain. 

A rumble of thunder rolled outside and rain poured harder, hammering on the window. What quiet morning was blossoming earlier was now hidden behind a sheet of darkness of a storm cloud, obscuring the sun and the blue sky. Lightning bolts cut through the clouds like a swish of a sharp knife, reflecting on wet window glass.

Credence’s body seized, pushing the man away. Graves slid off the bed, fearful sweat appearing on his skin. He pressed both hands to his face, a cooling touch of sweaty cold palms, mind searching for a solution.

A blood-chilling outcry left Credence’s mouth at last. No longer silenced by inner limitations, he was a horror, his pale body an eerie mess in a bundle of dark red sheets. Black liquid poured from his mouth in thin trickles and all over his chest. Credence looked like a smudged drawing of a disturbed artist, his pale skin being a delicate canvas, but his face and body expressing the strangest darkest curves of the said artist’s fevered mind.

Something sharp bit into Graves’ foot - the broken remains of what used to be a mirror on the floor, a thousand of glittering reflecting pieces. A particularly large one reflected back at Graves, his mirror twin smiling savagely, his lips covered with blood just like Credence’s. 

Graves looked away, his chest full of hatred at his own face which was nothing like its true twin. Surely it wasn’t? 

Sudden absence of light vaporised all thoughts from Graves’ mind. Dark streaks of rain on the window became darker still, blending with something black and covering the surface with a sheet of translucent dark red. 

Graves swallowed, his heart missing a beat, an unpleasant lump choking his throat. He slid his hands down his long face, searching around feverishly, head full of Credence’s screaming and storm grumbling. He wanted to help, but only helplessness was at his disposal.

The room drowned in complete darkness. He could barely see amidst the thickness of pitch black. He felt the surroundings, found his way to the cold fireplace and a set of long matches on top of the mantelpiece. He flicked one but as soon as it came to life, it went out just as quickly, leaving a faint scent of burning in the air. Credence burst into laughing, high-pitched and prolonged, and Graves’ hands trembled. He flicked another match with the same result, or the lack of one. With desperate quick movement another match lit up for mere seconds, enough to light--

“Credence!”

Graves cried out as Credence’s face appeared so close to him, a combination of light and shadows creating a bizarre silhouette of his usually beautiful face. His blackened lips were stretched hungrily in a smile and his eyes, a pale nothing, stared at Graves with intensity.

Graves dropped his match, its small head emitting a thick smoke that could not be natural. Two powerful hands smashed into the man’s arms and he felt himself pressed to the vanity, its edge cutting painfully into his back. Credence’s bloody mouth pushed into his own, his teeth biting into delicate flesh of his lips. Tears welled in the corners of Graves’ eyes as he tried to free himself from Credence’s hold, but it was easier said than done. What passion was left after their night was now gone. He did not wish a sexual physical contact nor did Credence, he was certain. It was a demon’s play that led Credence’s body towards a hunt.

Graves’ hand ran through Credence’s hair and pulled at it, pushing his head away just a little, just enough to make an escape run for the exit. His bare feet slid on the carpets as he ran down the hall and down the stairs, followed by a quick pair of feet and painful whimpering.

As he made his way through the estate, familiar and previously cozy halls were now turning against their owner. Graves kept hearing the smashing of the mirrors in every single room; where Credence’s shadow passed, a shatter echoed. 

All the windows, framed by heavy dark curtains, were one by one drowned in blood. Dark streaks splashed all over the glass and met Graves’ gaze as he ran and ran to find his way out of the madness he entered willingly.

Credence persevered. Graves didn’t have to look around to see him, his wailing, screaming and occasional laughing haunted him throughout the house; where he went, wherever he tried to hide, he simply couldn’t. His feet hurt as he accidently stepped into pools of mirror shards, unable to stop himself while running. He winced, but pain didn’t bother him, mixed and overshadowed by the rush of adrenaline in his veins.

At last he reached the vast space of the living room. With deafening shattering the windows and mirrors cracked and fell out of their frames, flying in all directions and creating a sharp carpet of shards. Carefully avoiding the most dangerous mounds of fragments, cutting still on what he couldn’t escape, Graves managed to make his way to the exit. Pushed the front doors and gasped for air, his chest and head aching.

Cold morning air filled Graves’ craving lungs as he staggered outside. Even the dim light of the storm was welcome and his eyes adjusted to a sudden change from the complete darkness which engulfed his house. Despite his lungs being painful from the lack of air still, without a pause Graves cautiously and speedily moved along the tall wall of the garden, listening into the rustle of grass under running feet somewhere behind the fence.

How much can a man’s life change within an hour! When the sun had risen, he had been the happiest man in the world, holding a dearest creature in his arms. When the storm arrived, that said creature turned into an abomination, a nightmare beyond comprehension which held Graves’ heart in a tight grasp of fear. 

He looked at his hands, covered with smudged black liquid. An image of Credence, mouth full of black blood, dripping and choking, sprang in Graves’ mind. How much would he have given to help him. But he was just as powerless.

The estate was now behind, a memory, a painful recollection where good feelings were tainted by the darkness of evil. Where blood that caused passion now turned into blood of fear and hunger, life threatening and unhinged.

Graves’ feet glided over rain wet grass, tripping on tree roots and drowning in mud. Barely any oxygen was left in his lungs and he hoarsely gasped for air, cold and humid in the morning fog.

Dead silence surrounded him as he ran through the forest, branches hooking on his clothing. When he could no longer run, when his lungs begged to stop, Graves paused by a thick tree, pressing his back to its cold trunk.

The forest was still in its silence. Only the distant rustle of running, ominous and confusing, was heard from somewhere afar, a triggering trembling note in a cacophony of a madly beating heart and blood rushing loudly through Graves’ head. He could feel the rough texture of the tree under his head, felt his hair catch on the sharp grain of wood.

And suddenly there was no air and he was in pain, so much choking pain. Air leaving his throat as cold fingers closed up on his neck, pushing him into the tree and choking him, sending terror in all parts of his body. Credence’s vacant face was before him, watching but unseeing.

“Please,” Graves managed to spit out, trying to fight off the burning touch of a deadly hand. Credence stared, and for a moment it seemed as if he had come to a decision and Graves was almost glad for it, because in death he wouldn’t be in so much pain, in death he wouldn’t see the eyes of a lover which loved no more.

But the fingers let loose a little. Graves felt cold fresh air pour into his lungs.

“Help me, please, help me,” Credence muttered, feverish and incoherent and somewhat absent in his face. He cried, wailed and begged, feet deep in wet mud of the grove ground after the rain.

Graves stared at their reflection in a muddy puddle. There he was, smiling as ever while he wasn’t, and Credence, a shadow of himself, a blackness in a silhouette.

Blackness. Of course!

Muttering something barely audible, losing his mind to the grip of darkness, Credence began wandering away, leaving Graves awestruck. The young man, akin to a wounded animal, stumbled into tree trunks, scratching his naked skin on arms and shoulders, smudging dirt on ankles and hands and leaving a black liquid trail of droplets behind. His body was soon engulfed with unnaturally thick fog which covered the floor of the grove intensely.

Graves stared after him, eyes full of sadness, compassion and longing to the brim. Barely any fear was now residing in his heart, as if the poisoned air was choked out of his lungs, instead filling them in with hope. Such clearness appeared in his mind, a line of actions, a puzzle brought together at last, a puzzle he had longed to solve for many a week.

A loud moan echoed in the distance. A painful cry of something inhuman. Graves pressed himself closer to the tree, hands feeling for the rough surface of wood. He was certain his heart was beating loud enough to be heard in every corner of the forest and he tried to subdue it, steadying his breathing. But a striking realisation was gripping on his heart, and breathless exhaustion took over and he gasped hoarsely, craving for oxygen.

He laughed out loud suddenly, relieved. He covered his mouth and laughed and laughed and tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. Now he knew it.

Credence was gone. There was only darkness, the demon. A poison, a parasite trapped in an echo of a body which was no more. A realization so terrible and yet relieving lightened Graves’ heart and with laughter and tears he deafened the feeling of loss which was close to unbearable.

He steadied his breathing at last, hands on wrists and counting his madly beating pulse.

The demon. Credence. Gone. His whole being was engulfed in darkness, trapped within its own demons and allowing them to fester off his fears and wishes. Unbound, the demon had no food, no home. It searched a way out and Graves knew that one exit was buried in the ground near the Barebones estate, waiting for the owner to return at last.

Finding his way out of the labyrinth was easy. He followed the black trail, broken branches as if it were a magical thread, guiding him towards the estate. He felt no hunger, no tiredness, only a driving force inside him, a physician’s walking stick as he strived to help. The grove became emptier, neater and soon after revealed the wrought gates and the bold silhouette of the house.

A change was visible immediately. Barely welcoming and warm before, the estate now looked haunted and eerie. Black holes with sharp broken frames gaped from the walls, holes where windows were meant to be. Graves stared at the damaged building.

“No!”

A piercing scream burst somewhere inside the estate, prompting Graves to move forwards, run to the house and enter it without hesitation.

***

The air inside the estate could almost be touched, so dense it felt with a bizarre feeling of death. Rooms were full of dull storm morning light, a scent of blood hanging in the air, coming from the splotches of it around the magnificent window frames.

Graves treaded carefully along the hall, following the echo of sobs from the living room. The source of them was lying on the floor, a small body in her arms, another body slightly aside, lifeless eyes staring at Graves from the distance.

Chastity’s face brightened up when she saw the man, her wet eyes lighting up with hope.

“Dr. Graves, please. Help my brother. It’s not his fault, it’s not his fault…”

“I know, Ms. Barebone,” he replied quietly, squatting beside the young lady. He looked at Modesty’s body in her hold, a terrifying sight of eerie youth which was never meant to blossom. Which never could.

“It was the mirror. Mother,” Chastity gasped and swallowed tears. “Mother.”

“What mirror?”

“The one Credence brought when he last visited you. Oh Dr. Graves, Mother did not like it, not for a moment. She dropped it on the floor, and before we knew it, Credence cut himself on the shards turned into something… wicked. He cried and thrashed about and nothing would sate him, nothing would calm him.”

“And then you called for me.”

Chastity made a feeble attempt of a “ _ yes _ ”, but a new wave of tears prevented her from any talking at all. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and clenched into Modesty’s body, embracing her.

“It’s not his fault, Dr. Graves,” she repeated through tears, hiding her face in the curve of Modesty’s shoulder.

Graves considered Mrs. Barebone’s body without pity as she lay sprawled on the floor. The source of misfortunes and pain, he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry for her fate.

A howling cry echoed outside, meaning that the demon was somewhere about, searching and wandering. It wanted an ending to its pains, and so did Graves.

“Please, make him hurt less,” Chastity muttered when the physician rose from his knees. He regarded her for a moment before retreating to the exit with certainty in his walk.

***

Graves’ hands dug into the ground where he buried the shards alongside the intentions to ever return to them. And yet there he was, on his knees beside a bush, fingers searching without hesitation for the gleaming piece.

First the fabric showed in the ground, then he felt for the sharp edges in it. A source, a weapon, a pain, an end.

The weapon he acquired, but now he needed the target.

Graves looked around, searching for his own reflection in the puddles. He dared not look, scared to see the familiar smile on his face. Or something worse, a reflection of what he didn’t know existed in his heart. Instead, Graves approached one of the dry autumn thickets and snapped off a twig. It was wet on one side, but the other one had already dried out after rain. Graves looked at its sharp end, closed his eyes tight and with a painful cry slashed his hand.

The nearby puddle was rippled and stained with red of blood droplets.

Graves’ first instinct made him grasp at the hand, sobbing and crying with pain as blood spilt out of the ripped wound. Collecting himself, concentrating on fear rather than pain, Graves shook his hand over it a little, making more blood fall in the water. Along with blood, his tears dropped into water. The man was gasping and breathing shakily, but he was determined to fight terror away or let it consume him to the point of numbness.

He covered his mouth with a uninjured hand and waited. It didn’t take long - there was soft rustle of running, cries drawing nearer. The demon took his bait.

And then he ran. On and on, deeper into the grove he ran, feeling the branches of trees whip his face, cut his skin. He fell to his knees, sobbed for a few seconds and forced himself up. His legs hurt and he was certain one of the recent falls broke a finger of his previously healthy hand. Pain was his adrenaline boost, his medicine. And he rushed forward with his hand splayed and blood still dripping from it, leaving a dark thin path. A trail.

Sometimes he paused by particularly large muddy puddles which reflected what bits of the sky were visible through the thick mess of branches. And spurred by terror, he ran on.

He found refuge in a roundish lawn, wild and unwelcoming, eerie in colours and the lack of noises. Graves stopped and felt the full force of pain in his bloodied palm.

Credence stood hunched in the middle of the lawn, naked, scratched and dirty. He was surrounded by wild ripped out roots and tree branches. Graves looked at him across the lawn and swallowed his fear. This was past a point of no return and to make himself realise it more, he squeezed a mirror shard through a piece of cloth with his bloodied hand. His only weapon, Credence’s only end.

“Dr. Graves,” the boy whimpered. “Help me.”

Graves gripped onto the shard. His gaze was fixed on Credence and a rushing wave of pain covered him. Could he truly free Credence who was long gone? Could he sacrifice Credence’s beautiful body for the sake of getting rid of the demon? Could he damage that bewitching skin which he used to cover in kisses and now had to pierce?

Nostalgia hit him entirely, nostalgia for what could never be once more. Never again would he embrace darkness mentally and physically, never again would he kiss the dearest creature’s lips, the softness and sweetness of which he treasured above all. He loved everything about what Credence was, even his darkness.

“Yes,” said Credence, as if confirming Graves’ guess. “You like it.”

“I like it,” he echoed. He smiled. “May I come closer to you?”

“Yes,” Credence breathed out and Graves slowly approached him. His steps sounded soft on the forest floor, muffled and heavy. It took an endless path to reach the boy and he felt like he was walking along a thin thread. As soon as he reached Credence, the young man wrapped his arms around Graves and cradled his head on his chest.

“You understand. You have it in you. Unlike so many, you accepted the obscurity inside, you welcomed it. They all lie but you don’t. You like it.”

“I like it,” repeated Graves soothingly, moving his hands up and down Credence’s back. 

“And when you stab me with that mirror shard, I will accept it too. Like you accepted what I did to you.”

Graves almost dropped his weapon. What was the demon talking about?

“You are worthy.”

And he looked up with his eyes pure white, blinding white like angel’s aura, and yet so demonic. He parted his red and blackened lips a little and tilted his head.

“Will you kiss me goodbye?”

Unbidden tears streamed down Graves’ face again as he pressed his lips to Credence’s. He couldn’t help loving this boy with all his heart, with all his demons, be it something supernatural or real. It was enticing and dangerous and Graves’ blood went hot as he simply thought of it. It brought his own demons to light and ignited his body. If only it could stay this way… 

Graves hit the floor with his knees, Credence held tightly in his arms. His lips once again covered the boy’s, whose eyes were still open and white. He flicked his overly sweet lips with his tongue, explored his mouth and deepened the kiss with passion. He wanted to remember it and he hoped that the deeper he kissed, the closer he got to the real Credence, even though he had to be gone. But who was real and who wasn’t? If this cursed mirror showed what they truly were, was the demon Credence’s dark embodiment?

The idea invigorated Graves. He was long past the point of being afraid to accept who he was and what he liked.

“Ah!”

Credence gasped when a mirror shard pierced his chest. A trickle of blood poured from his body with a small delay, dampening his white shirt with dark red liquid. Soon his mouth gurgled with actual brighter red blood, but he was smiling and looking at Graves with an expression which could be called grateful. Percival leaned in and once again kissed the boy dying in his arms. He tasted the blood on his lips, felt it fill the space before his teeth.

As he pulled away, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the blood on his mouth, he watched the boy’s eyes clear, reveal the dark irises and finally let go of life.

***

Soft sun beams kissed the grounds of the Barebones estate. The nature was still and even joyful, grass swaying a little on the mild late summer wind. There were birds singing in the trees and there was a light feeling in the air, smelling of sweet flowers and grasses.

Graves stood on the lawn, leaning on his walking stick with a heavily bandaged hand.

“She planned to poison you, you know,” said Miss Barebone, who was sitting at a small tea table brought outside. Her tea cup remained untouched, her hands clasped together in her lap, tugging at the folds of a black gown. Graves didn’t turn around at first, but then moved to sit in another chair. The woman extracted a small bottle with dirty yellow liquid in it and put it before Graves next to his own full tea cup.

“When you would have dealt with Credence, she wanted to get rid of you. That’s why she called on you in the first place. A doctor with no family ties, almost a stranger to so many.”

Graves said nothing. He rotated the bottle, watched the thick liquid colour the glass insides and returned it on the table.

“Someone not one person would miss.”

The grievous silence tensed.

“What will you do now?” he asked the woman who stared gloomily at the grove.

“I’ll leave for London. We have family there, they agreed to take me in. I’ll sell the estate and move as soon as the funeral has been concluded. When all things are settled.”

“It’s a long time. You might change your mind.”

“No, Dr. Graves,” she smiled bitterly, tears welling up in her eyes. “I can’t stay here. So many troubling memories. I remember Credence’s face when he tried to collect the mirror shards, left from your beautiful gift. I can still hear his screaming. It lasted for several nights, not a soul could sleep..”

Graves listened quietly as Chastity revealed her fears and memories. He wanted to keep them close at heart, for they somehow sounded comforting. Peaceful silence and contentment was an anesthetic against the dead pain in his chest.

“He never hurt us. Even being… what he was, he never hurt us.” the woman raised her big eyes to look at the physician. “No human is without a sin. Credence, even as a demon, cared for us, because our mother… wronged us too. But in the end, it was I who he chose would live.”

She took her handkerchief and mopped at her eyes. Shoulders shaking, she bit on the edge of the handkerchief and said no more.

Graves looked at her and strange peace blossomed inside him, as if he suddenly grew wings. Miss Barebone’s crying didn’t bother him, didn’t bring memories of love that deceased. No, it soothed him in ways he never felt before.

Graves’ gaze fell on the gleaming teacup where his tea was untouched, its surface mirroring. 

His reflection smiled. He didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is it, I guess. The end of the story. A full and closed circle *cries*. Does it mean it is truly the end? NO. I have a variety of scenes left which are simply too good not to publish at some point. Also, there is to be a small prequel for the story. So stay tuned :)
> 
> Please, do feel free to speculate about the ending. If you want to discuss anything, I'm always up for it on my [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> I remind that there is a constantly updated [Pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/toffy346/gravebone-demon-au/) with dark demonic aesthetic, if you'd like to re-pin stuff.
> 
> A huge giant thank you to [gravesfrommacusa](http://gravesfrommacusa.tumblr.com), [angst-wizard](http://angst-wizard.tumblr.com/) and [tssoni](http://tssoni.tumblr.com/). Without you this story would never have happened.  
> A particular thank you to Nix for her incredible and invaluable help with proofreading and brainstorming. You rock! <3
> 
> Thanks so much for reading everyone and for cheering me on my journey and exploration of new writing limits.


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